The Upside of Being Down
by missjayden
Summary: What happens when you put a hopelessly romantic manwhore and a girl with a soft spot for bedtime activities not THOSE activities, silly! together in a dark bedroom? Well, I don't happen to know either, so I suppose we'll find out together, won't we? Come
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Allergic to Idiots**

The poor bastard hadn't a chance.

Five years later, and this fact had yet to penetrate the exceptionally thick skull of my cousin, James Potter, who truly worried me sometimes.

Take this afternoon, for instance. He'd been innocently attending our last period Transfiguration class, and doing quite well, too, for someone who'd had his attention focused on the back of Lily Evans' head for the better part of the year, as opposed to the actual lesson.

But as I mentioned, James saw himself as something of a Casanova, a winner of ladies' hearts, and was really rather a persistent sort. He wasn't about to listen to the good advice given him and had decided that today—like so many others before it—was _the_ day.

We tried to hold him back. Really, we did. Well, all right, maybe it wasn't so much holding him back as it was Sirius and myself sitting on his face and legs (respectively) until he'd promised to give up his pursuits, already.

But no sooner had he given us his word that he'd foresworn Lily Evans for good, and we had gotten off him, did the little sneak take off like a shot in the direction of the girls' dormitories, broom in hand.

To say the least, if it'd been me in Lily Evans' place, I'd have been a little flattered. I mean, all blood relation aside, James wasn't exactly the sort to make girls run the other way screaming, especially in the looks department. And he wasn't a total prat, once you got to know him (_really_ got to know him, mind.)

Still, neither could I particularly blame Lily for her refusals so far. After all, he wasn't going about it in quite the way any self-respecting girl would prefer. Neither threats nor unashamed (and at times borderline creepy) desperation were very coercing in the way of getting a girl you fancied to go out with you.

James, dear boy that he was, simply couldn't grasp this concept, hence the cause for his dismally complete and utter failure at wooing Miss Evans all these many years he'd been after her heart.

It was only slightly pathetic—more intriguing, really; at least for me—that none of this seemed to bother James. If not freakishly obsessed, the boy was stubborn and refused to give up, and I honestly had to admire such determination—it was easy to, as well, just so long as I ignored the fact that it was hormone-driven, rather than something respectable, like a thirst for success or anything that was slightly more relevant to his future.

Our friends—Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew—, the three of them, had considerable difficulty comprehending _why_ Lily Evans meant so much to James. I could see their point of view easily enough, as well. They simply didn't understand James' persistence; why he didn't just give up, move on and enjoy an at least partially healthy relationship with one of the many willing girls that attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Sirius, especially, who frequently partook in said quasi-healthy relationships—liaisons, if we're being technical—, sometimes two or three at a time (I loved the boy, but he could be something of a wanker), couldn't see the justification for expending so much energy on just one girl.

But as James continuously attempted to explain to his friends—in small, simple words, so they'd be sure to understand—he was in love, whether the object of his affections returned his feelings or not, and would rather take up with a Flobberworm than date him (and she'd actually publicly announced this, too, so we knew it was true.)

As a proud member of the female population, I was slightly less incapable of seeing my cousin's side of things. In fact, I liked to think of myself as a neutral party, aware of all viewpoints and acknowledging that each had their own amount of validity.

I tried not to choose sides, but there were times—like this afternoon—where James made it extremely hard to remain impartial. And straight-faced. Definitely hard to do that.

No sooner had he disappeared up the girls' dormitory staircase, mounted on his broomstick so as to avoid sliding back down to the common room on his bum (Sirius liked to think they'd put in that particular security feature just for him), did a piercing shriek and noisy crash echo down the stairwell, followed by the dulcet tones of Lily herself:

"Potter, you total _prat_! I'm not dressed!"

"And point one for Prongs," Sirius murmured, licking his finger and drawing an imaginary tick in the air, then going back to his copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

I rolled my eyes from where I sat slumped on the sofa next to him, with my legs stretched out to warm my stockinged toes in front of the fire, my arms loosely folded. I exchanged a look of amusement with Remus, who lowered his Astronomy textbook long enough to quirk a wry brow at me.

Peter, blushing furiously at the idea of Lily Evans undressed, said, "Is he going to be in a lot of trouble, do you think?"

"Knowing his usual manner with McGonagall?" Sirius shook his head. "Lucky sod's got her wrapped around his little finger. 'Course, this won't be the first time he's snuck up to the girls' dorm to accost Evans. I imagine McGonagall's rather bored of it all by now."

I grinned (I rather thought that it was Sirius who had our Headmistress wrapped around his little finger, as opposed to James, who was simply too big-headed to believe himself capable of doing any wrong), then scrunched my toes against the delicious heat of the fire, causing goose-bumps to rise all up my legs and forearms.

"If I know James, he'll probably just tell her he was up there getting my allergy medicine for me or something," I said, noticing out of the corner of my eye Sirius' gaze fixed rather intently on my legs. "He'll end up making himself out to be a do-gooder caught in an unfortunate predicament, and likely get me in trouble in the process. _Again_. Pity I haven't got any allergies, besides ogling idiots," I added quite pointedly, lifting my left foot to give Sirius' ankle a sharp kick.

He raised his eyes from my legs, which were bare between the bottom of my uniform skirt and the tops of my grey knee-highs. Instead of blushing or looking ashamed—as any _decent_ person would have done—he merely grinned wolfishly at me and winked, before returning to his clearly fascinating newspaper.

As the shouting continued upstairs, the occupants of the Gryffindor common room went on about their business as usual. Such occurrences were hardly out of the ordinary for us, and often went either ignored or gladly tolerated, what with the rather substantial amusement factor to take into consideration.

"Shouldn't you maybe go up there?" Peter asked me, squirming in his seat as he listened anxiously to a loud crash, followed by his hero's cry of pain.

I expelled a breath. "Yes, I probably should." I made no move to get up from my admittedly cozy spot on the sofa, however.

Peter continued to gaze at me expectantly, though, unable to sit still at the thought of James in any sort of trouble, and I finally rose with a muttered, "Oh hell. All right, I'm going."

I supposed that taking my sweet time going upstairs, especially now that I was already standing up, would hardly be sensible in rescuing my cousin from the considerable wrath of an incensed, probably half-naked Lily Evans, and dashed up the stairs.

The door to the dorm room I shared with the rest of the seventh year girls stood partially open and as I hurried towards it, the raised voices of Lily and James and the high-pitched squeals coming from the other girls reached whole new levels of noise.

Through the crack in the doorway, I saw a huddle of my fellow, very frightened-looking dorm-mates. Lily was not among their group, but I could hear her voice, becoming increasingly louder and ever-more vulgar as her ire picked up steam.

"…_dare_ you come in here and embarrass me like this! Can't you take a hint? You've broken at least three school rules coming up here, after I expressly told you to bloody leave me the hell alone!"

James, like the not-to-be-deterred and sadly unwise boy he was, shouted back in a pleading tone, "I'll leave you alone if you go out with me! One date, Evans, and I'm out of your hair. I promise, that's all it'll take for you to realize you fancy me back."

Lily, obviously rapidly nearing her breaking point, let out a frustrated scream, and just as I reached the door, I beheld her standing there in her dressing gown, yanking on her dark-red hair in furious aggravation.

The startled girls bunched together near the door shrieked again as I came in, and I slammed the door in my own irritation.

"Oh, shut it, he's not about to attack the lot of you, you can calm down," I snapped at them, then turned to face the duelling pair, taking in the shattered porcelain on the floor (a water ewer, I noticed, with some regret—I'd rather liked the one with the blue willow-sprigs) and both of their thoroughly ruffled appearances.

Lily seemed relieved to see me, but James didn't even look over at my entrance.

"Tia! Oh, thank God," she said, in evident relief. "Maybe _you_ can get the message through his thick head—_I'm_—_not_—_interested_!" She spoke each word separately and with marked vehemence.

I smiled blandly. "But Lily—he's a man in love. D'you really expect little old me to stand in the way of that?"

"She's right, Evans," James said, with renewed fervour. "I love you, and if you'd only give me the chance to prove it—"

Lily's entire face softened and she gave him a teary, beaming smile. "Do you really love me, dearest James? Oh, that's just perfect, because I love you too, with a mad passion! Let's run away to Bimini together and make lots of red-haired, bespectacled babies!"

No, I'm only kidding. What _really_ happened was not only not quite so much of the In-James'-Dreams variety, but also far more entertaining.

"You… you…" Lily sputtered incomprehensibly for about fifteen seconds, eyes popping in incredulous outrage, and just when I expected her to start foaming at the mouth, she found the proper words to convey what she was really feeling, deep down.

"You _dick_!" she burst out, stamping her foot. "You don't love me! You're too pig-headed and full of yourself to actually care about another human being! If I believed for one second you might truly have genuine feelings for me beyond an unnatural obsession for conquering the one girl who's ever refused your oh-so-irresistible charm, I'd show some interest in you. But your inflated ego and your irritating tendency to never actually listen to a word I say are just too much for words, James Potter!"

I had to hand it to Lily. There was no denying her gift for gab.

James blinked once. "_Yes_, but—"

Spotting Lily's sudden movement to grab for the hairbrush resting on her nightstand, and predicting her rather evident intention to lob it at his head, I decided then was the perfect time to intervene.

"Let's go _now_, shall we?" I said hastily, grabbing James by the arm and beginning to attempt to drag him bodily from the room.

Now, I wasn't very small, myself, standing at a decent five feet, seven inches. Nor was I exactly what one would call sturdy, but you couldn't knock me over with a feather, either. I could hold my own on a Quidditch field and, with mainly blokes for friends, was used to a bit of rough-handling.

But _you_ try moving a boy who not only tops you by a good four inches and outweighs you by at least thirty pounds, but is entirely willing to fight you tooth-and-nail in order to stay with the one he loves.

Needless to say, my futile attempts at budging him weren't turning out to be very successful at all. He'd dug in his heels and continued to declare his certainty that Lily fancied him back, and she would realize it if she'd only look inside herself and—

His exclamations were cut short by Lily's hairbrush bouncing sharply off his temple. The resulting string of biting curses were muffled by a large, tanned hand snaking over my shoulder and clapping over James' mouth.

I looked round in surprise and took in Sirius' thoroughly amused expression.

"Right, then," he said briskly, bringing his other arm round to hook over James' chest and proceeding to haul him (rather easily, I had to grudgingly admit) towards the door. "Let's be off, Jamesy. Mustn't frighten the lovely ladies. Or act like a bloody psychopath," he added, in an undertone that only I caught.

James resisted, of course, but with my own and Sirius' combined efforts, and certain encouragement (namely, a very kind and gentle kick in the arse), we managed to get him out of the dormitory and slid down to the common room together in a heap, without too much grief—well, on my part, anyway; Sirius ended up with a split lip and James was rewarded with several bruises in the midst of our struggle—but that was neither here nor there.

Once safely locked up in his own dormitory, James had calmed down enough so that we were at least able to understand what he was saying; though, in my opinion, we were better off not knowing.

Remus and Peter had followed us up and the five of us occupied the otherwise empty boys' dormitory.

"It's right pitiable, is what it is," Sirius remarked with a rueful shake of his head, as we stood watching James sulk on his bed, muttering darkly under his breath about how _close_ he was sure he'd come to getting Lily to admit her secret feelings, and how he'd much prefer to consort with his enemies if this was what his friends were going to be like, the ruddy traitors that we were.

"I'll assume it didn't go well," Remus said, with an ironic lift of his brow.

Sirius touched a finger to his bloodied lower-lip gingerly and replied, "Don't be silly. It was going spiffingly—up 'til the point Prongs hit puberty."

I laughed and moved his hand in order to determine the extent of the damage done to his lip. I had forgiven him for the earlier leg-ogling incident, on the grounds that a) I could hardly be cross with him for something he did all the bloody time and b) he _had_ helped with James.

This train of thought caused something to occur to me.

Lowering my hand from his chin, which I'd been gripping to angle his head in order to allow a better view of his lip (he was a good deal taller than me, nearly six inches more), I inquired, "How did you get up there, anyway? I _know_ you've been up to the girls' dorm before, but you didn't have your broom with you."

Sirius smiled broadly in spite of his lip, obviously quite pleased with himself. His only answer, however, was, "Oh, wouldn't you like to know?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, don't tell me. What do you think I'd do, anyway; run straight to McGonagall with your dirty secret?"

Stung that I'd even had to question the integrity of our friendship (what little integrity there was), Sirius said tetchily, "I'll have you know that not even Prongs knows my secret way up."

"Right, and if you'd _tell me_," said the very disgruntled, aforementioned Prongs, from where he still lay sprawled over his bedspread, "I wouldn't have to make such a spectacle of myself, flying everywhere."

"Oh, James," I said, with a deep sigh. "You make a spectacle of yourself from the minute you get out of bed in the morning. And you would be most disappointed, were it any other way."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: When Toadstools Run Rampant**

The next day, during my free third period (whose blessed respite from all things Advanced Transfiguration I was allowed to enjoy only every second day), I could be found holed up in the remotest corner of the library with Remus.

"Who've you got rounds with tonight?" I inquired, flipping dispassionately through a text on the advantages of toadstools in potion-making. We had an essay due in two days, and I was making Remus write mine with me. I was quite hopeless at Potions and needed all the help I could get. Not that Remus was much of an expert in this particular subject either, but he at least made the effort of paying attention in class, something I honestly couldn't be arsed to do half the time.

"Erm… Whittaker, I think," he replied, distractedly, as he scribbled out notes for me from his own book, which, telling by the hefty amount of notes he was procuring, was proving to be far more fruitful than mine.

Tossing aside '_The Toadstool: Not Just a Frog's Sitting Place_' with a wrinkle of my nose, I picked up another book at random from the teetering pile on our table and began to read.

"Whittaker's the really smarmy one who got his sister to ask me out for him, isn't he?"

"One and the same."

"Hm. Don't envy you much, then," I murmured, pausing in my careless scanning of the book's pages at a section that looked hopeful.

"Yes, well. That's a prefect's life, I suppose. Sacrificing one's own enjoyment and possible sanity for one's duties and certain deathly boredom."

"Ah, yes. But all boredom is deathly certain." I grinned impishly at him over the top of my book when his brows snapped together, as he took the time to actually process what I'd just said.

Then he shook his head, a faint, indulgent smile on his lips. "Sometimes you make very little sense, Tia."

I laughed. "I don't have to—we're doing Potions. So long as I don't wind up poisoning anybody, I'm set."

He laughed, also, and we settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sneeze due to the dust motes that coated the pages of some of the older tomes, and the rustle of parchment and scratch of quills.

It was true that I didn't envy Remus his prefect round duties, though not just because of forced company with ponces like Neil Whittaker. The main reason was how very little time he had for extracurricular activities, such as Quidditch, or napping.

I, myself, needed at least a solid ten hours of sleep a night in order to properly function, and my favourite pastime was taking naps. That, and cross-stitch, but the latter happened to be a secret indulgence of mine that nobody outside of my dorm knew about.

If it wasn't rounds at night, Remus was off helping some first-year find their way around the labyrinth of school hallways, or sorting out some minor problem having to do with something somewhere between somebody and somebody else. His time was nearly always spoken for and I simply couldn't imagine never having a moment's idleness, for simply sitting and not having to think about or do or say anything.

James was also unfortunate enough to have the same duties as Remus, though he probably had it twice as bad, as he was Head Boy and on top of everything else, had an entire fleet of prefects to keep in order. He hardly seemed to mind, though.

In fact, his expression had been one of utter jubilation (once the confusion had passed, of course) upon receiving his Hogwarts letter and badge, naming him as this year's Head Boy—especially after seeing the name printed next to his own, under the title of Head Girl.

One Lily Evans.

But prefect or Head positions did, most definitely, have their advantages. There was the prefect's bathroom, which James or Remus had snuck me into on occasion (to gloat, more than anything else, I rather thought). And then there was the separate Head dormitory, though this last was going completely unused this year, mainly due to the Head Girl's objections to being in close quarters with the Head Boy, and the Head Boy's resulting unwillingness to being all alone in the dorm, with no one to talk to and nothing but his thoughts to keep him company (a rather frightening thought if you knew him enough to have a clue as to what actually went through his head on a regular basis.)

I could hardly blame either of them for opting for their regular dormitories as opposed to those of the Heads. Not just for the above reasons, either. I imagined it was much more pleasant sleeping and eating and living like any normal seventh-year student, even if they most certainly weren't.

No, I didn't envy them their positions or their status. I didn't fancy all that responsibility and, anyway, prefect duties would more than likely cut into my napping time, and we definitely couldn't have that.

"All right," Remus announced at last, setting down his quill and shaking his light-brown hair out of his eyes as he sat back. He needed a hair-cut, I noted idly. Well, all my friends did—I wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not that Sirius' perpetually unkempt locks surpassed the length of even my own. "I think we have enough research material here to work with. How exactly did you want to write the paper?"

"Standard essay format, I guess," I replied, with a shrug. "It's only a roll and a half of parchment, so I don't think it'll be too difficult to fill up space."

"No," Remus said, with a faintly wicked smile. "You've never had any trouble with the _amount_ of words."

I chose—rather graciously, I might add—to ignore the implication behind his statement and instead picked up the quill he'd set down, pulled a fresh roll of parchment toward me and said, "Right. How do I start?"

"You might start with your name and the title of the essay."

I obediently wrote my name at the top of the roll, deciding spur of the moment to use my middle initial; to make it look more official, you see.

I paused at the title, however. I couldn't recall for the life of me exactly what the essay was supposed to be about.

"Key factors in toadstool theory," Remus intoned helpfully.

Right. Hence the book on toadstools. I jotted down a sufficiently articulate title, then tried to decide on a thesis statement, scanning over Remus' many neat and precise notes for inspiration.

Nearly ten minutes later, I had the first sentence—the most important of all, as any self-respecting essay-writer knows—written, and handed my parchment to Remus for inspection and approval.

"'_The Six Key Factors in Magical Toadstool Theory_', by Tia C. Spencer," he recited, then looked up at me with raised brows. "You aren't going to use your proper name?"

I resisted the urge to make a face, though it cost me. In truth, 'Tia' was derived from 'Portia', a traditional family name on my father's side. However, nobody dared call me that—with the exception of my paternal grandmother of the same name—and I usually preferred not to acknowledge the fact that I even had another name.

James, whose mother was my mum's sister, was lucky enough to have normal, far less pretentious family names, like Margaret and Robert. Though try telling that to Aunt Meg and Uncle Robbie, who both thought their names were dreadfully boring and plain. I craved for boring and plain. I lusted after it. Pretentious must die.

"Erm… no, no, I never do. Keep going," I said, waving the matter off with a flap of my hand.

"If you're sure," Remus said, then began again. "'…by Tia C. Spencer. From the days of Merlin himself, to our own more modern, contemporary time, the usage of toadstools in several variations of potions has run rampant in the wizarding world.'"

He lifted his head and lowered my paper to gaze at me incredulously.

"'_Run rampant_'?"

"Yes," I said, indignantly, a bit stung at his (albeit subtle) amusement. "And what's wrong with that? I thought it a good bit of alliteration."

"Er… toadstools don't run, rampantly or otherwise."

"The usage of toadstools, Remus, the _usage_!" I stressed, banging the flat of my hand against the surface of the table to make my point. "And in any case, it's called personification." I sniffed. "Really, Remus, the finer points of the English language are truly lost on you."

Though normally a quiet, thoughtful boy, there was a side to Remus Lupin that made plain his affinity to James and Sirius' trouble-making. He was outwardly biting and quick of tongue when he chose to be, and it was a testament to how comfortable he felt around me that he chose to be so now.

"While I am most impressed by your own thorough grasp of said language, alliteration and personification unfortunately have bugger all to do with Potions, the current subject of importance. Now, I gave up my free period to do this, so perhaps you would be so kind as to get on with it?"

This prickly dialogue was spoken with such an amiable expression and tone of voice that I couldn't help laughing at the twinkle in his eye. Nobody could be stern with quite the same degree of friendliness as Remus Lupin.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," I replied with a rather good (if I did say so myself) pirate-esque accent and mock-salute. "Shiver me timbers, mate, savvy, ridiculously prolonged arrrrr, and all that rot."

He stared at me, the expression in his warm brown eyes pained. "Why do you wound me so with your madness?" he asked, listlessly.

I smiled broadly. "Because I always kiss it better later when I share my monthly order of Honeyduke's chocolate with you. As a matter of a fact, I think it's dark Belgium with almonds due this time."

He got a sort of glazed-over look on his face as he pondered the blissful possibilities of la gentil cacao. "Oh… bless your soul."

"You're a kind bloke, Remus Lupin. Never thought otherwise," I declared, lips twitching irresistibly.

Then I buckled down and got to work, learning more about toadstools than I had ever cared to know.

While not quite my idea of a rip-roaring good time, the afternoon was well-spent, as the final product of my and Remus' efforts was a halfway decent essay, three inches over the required length, and some of it was actually relevant fact, as opposed to my usual senseless, space-filling babble. I felt quite certain that at least two-thirds of the essay actually pertained to the assigned topic, which was something of a record for me.

Feeling rather proud of myself and more than a little grateful towards Remus, the two of us made our way to regular Transfiguration for our last class of the day.

I say 'regular', though really I was the only one of us in a higher class, so I supposed it was only regular to me. The difference was the Advanced class, which I was taking (against my will) as a prerequisite for my curse breaker training after I left Hogwarts at the end of the year. Other mandatory classes for this field were Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all of which were also on my current lesson-plan. The first was my favourite class of all and quite possibly the only one I excelled at. It was a matter of pride for me that I was the sole Arithmancy fanatic among my group of friends, and also the only one of us that was any good at it.

James and Sirius were talented at just about everything they tried, as was Remus, though he really had to work at it to get to their level of marks. Peter, I could relate to, in the sense that neither of us would have even been passing most of our courses if it weren't for the help of the others.

Worse, James and Sirius knew it, the egotistical buggers.

Remus and I were some of the first students to arrive and we took our usual seat near the back, to the left of classroom, positioned between the bookcases and the rear window. This allowed for both sufficient shelter from McGonagall's hawk-like gaze and rather good ventilation for the rare days when the classroom became stifling hot. While those on the far side of the room were melting into puddles, the five of us lounged in the cool breeze blowing in from the open window.

It was pouring rain today, however, and I stared a bit mournfully outside through the droplet-spattered glass, squinting up at the iron-grey sky. The lads had Quidditch practice tonight, and if the weather kept on like it was, they'd come back to the common room soaking wet, muddy and probably in a playful, rough-housing sort of mood.

Which meant I, too, would end up soaking wet and muddy, though somewhat less good-humoured. Perhaps an early night was in order. Or perhaps I might catch up on my cross-stitch. There was a throw-pillow cover I'd been meaning to finish for some time now.

This warming thought in mind, I turned away from the gloom outside, just as the last few stragglers entered the classroom, James, Peter, and Sirius amongst them.

The three of them plunked themselves down into the seats behind us and, with a quick glance at a still-distracted McGonagall (apparently, one of the girls had tried to transfigure her tortoise and simply could _not_ figure out how to turn it back from a turtle), I turned in my seat to face them.

"Right, here's the deal," James whispered, before I could get a word in. He leant forward eagerly, a familiar and abhorrent gleam in his eye which meant that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was something I surely wouldn't like (and said gleam was hardly a rarity). Sure enough…

"We're going to need to use you as a decoy."

I stared at him for several seconds, saying nothing. This was mainly due to the fact that I didn't trust myself to speak, not with McGonagall standing only a few yards away; her, with her baffling aversion to foul language.

Slowly, I breathed in. Just as slowly, I breathed out. Then I spoke.

"No," I said, quite decisively. "No, I don't think you will."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be such a killjoy, Spencer. We have the perfect plan, but unless you go along with it, all our careful and brilliant scheming will have gone to waste."

"Look," I hissed, with much more conviction than I usually put forth on the subject. "I loathe the greasy oddball as much as any of you lot. But it's getting ridiculous how you go out of your way to torment him!"

Sirius opened his mouth to make some habitually easy, off-hand reply, but James beat him to it.

"You'll love it once you've heard it, Tee. Just don't shoot it down 'til you've seen the whole picture, all right?"

I eyed him suspiciously, then shook my head and turned back around, just as McGonagall finished sorting out the girl's tortoise, and cleared her throat to signal the start of the lesson.

Half an hour later, as the class was busy copying out a complicated diagram from the board, depicting the steps that must be taken in order to effectively enlarge one's facial features, I was amusing myself by doodling along the margins of my parchment. We'd covered this subject in Advanced nearly a month ago. I didn't know why I even bothered with regular Transfiguration, except maybe to keep the lads company, and for an excuse not to take Divination.

Adding the finishing touches to my rather realistic representation of a polar bear in a snow-storm, I felt something prod me sharply between the shoulder blades.

Glancing perturbedly behind me, I saw Sirius oh-so-casually holding a carefully folded note between his fingers, even as he industriously scribbled away on his diagram, copying down the labels and required wand-movements.

I plucked the note from his hand and turned again in my seat, looking out of the corner of my eye to see whether McGonagall was watching. She was busy explaining some particularly complicated step of the diagram to another student, however, and I unfolded the parchment safely under the shelter of my desk.

_**Dearest Sex-Kitten,**_

**_I hope you haven't forgotten me. Me, the ridiculously good-looking bloke who sits behind you in Transfiguration?_**

**_Here's a thought. Why don't you ditch that smarmy git you call a boyfriend and we can go shag in a broom cupboard?_**

_**Luuurve,**_

—_**Mr. Padfoot.**_

I didn't snort aloud, though it cost me. Inking the tip of my quill, I scrawled a quick response, my lip curled the whole time.

_You are astonishingly idiotic. Andrew is nice, and happens to be a wickedly good kisser, so—here's a thought—why don't you mind your bloody own?_

_Have fun in that broom cupboard all by your lonesome. And leave the brooms out of it, you ponce._

—_Queen of the Universe._

I re-folded the parchment and tossed it over my shoulder. A short time later, it flew back over to land on top of my notebook.

McGonagall cast me a suspicious, bespectacled glance, but her attention was soon called for when another student questioned the importance of the incantation in facial enlargement—or something. I was slightly distracted by Sirius' reply.

**_McPherson is a good kisser? You actually let that flaky berk snog you? It pierces the heart._** (And the ego, I thought wryly.) **_Have it your way, then. The brooms and I shall be quite happy without you, thanks very much._**

_**On a lighter, less potentially splinterful note, why won't you be our decoy? You make such a lovely decoy. Snivellus simply can't resist your charms and I'd be hard put to find another damsel who can run quite as fast you; a handy talent indeed. **_

_**Do be a dear, dear.**_

—_**Mr. Padfoot, a.k.a. the Queen's Humble Footstool.**_

I wrote out a reply, this time with a cheeky smile playing at my lips.

_Dear Footstool,_

'_Splinterful'? I'd point out that that's not even remotely a word, but I fear you might go into some kind of explanation, which I am not quite prepared for. Let's just say this, and leave it at that: I understand your meaning and wish I could only be so lucky as to have naught but fluff for brains. Fluff is good. Fluff knows no evil, Black or otherwise. That was an insult, by the by._

_Additionally, I refuse to be your peon in yet another nefarious, cruel and totally unnecessary plan to annoy Severus Snape. Truss James up in a dress, if you must, but I'll have no part in it._

_Do sod off, already._

—_Lady with the Bizarre Tendency to Beat Footstools with a Stick._

In the event, Sirius gave up his attempts, though he did take my advice, to an extent. Rather than James, Peter was the unfortunate victim being made to wear a dress.

While I didn't know exactly what they had in store for Severus, and I didn't much care, I really rather felt that if he was going to fall for whatever it was they had planned, at the wiles of Peter Pettigrew in a pinafore, no less… well, then, I really felt he deserved it.

I, myself, was holed safely up in my dorm room, out of harm's—and blame's—way. I wasn't about to get in trouble for something I'd had no part of, but by mere association. No, there were at least a half-dozen witnesses who'd seen me up here already and I thought that a fair number, for testimony's sake

Truthfully, I was a bit concerned about exactly what the lads had cooked up for Severus. Not particularly worried for Severus himself—he'd never been anything short of viciously rude to me, due to both my "half-blood" status and his overhearing me telling Marilyn Brocklehurst, my Potions partner in fourth year, that I found him creepy.

Which I still did.

My concern lay with my friends, who were bound to fuck themselves over royally at some point—why not tonight? It had to happen sometime, and I'd been experiencing a funny, jumpy sort of feeling in my gut all day. Women's intuition hadn't failed me yet, but did that deter them from going out and doing what was sure to be their downfall?

No. No, it did not.

And so I sat quietly in my dorm, the half-embroidered pillow-cover in my lap, listening to the storm raging outside the castle. Quidditch practise had finished an hour ago, and the lads had yet to return, which I took to mean their 'careful and brilliant scheming' was already well underway.

So help me God, if I got caught up in all of this because of them one more time, I would take their bloody Marauder's map and make them eat it.

I stabbed the needle through the square of Aida cloth rather more forcefully than necessary and succeeded in pricking my thumb—something I hadn't done in years. An omen, perhaps? Oh, I just _knew_ this was a terrible idea, and not their first, either.

Cursing under my breath, I sucked on my thumb to ease the sting and glanced at my watch for the tenth time in an hour. Five minutes past nine. Past curfew. The rule-breaking had officially begun.

With a long sigh, I selected a dusty-pink thread and began stitching a complicated rosebud pattern I'd been wanting to try for ages.

I should have been used to this by now. This worrying and waiting and pointless attempts to sway them from their intent. Having known James my whole life, it hardly surprised me the sort of friends he'd chosen. What did surprise me—baffled me, really, with regular consistency—was that they'd become my friends too.

Remus was too sweet and likeable not to be friends with, even if he had a darker, secret side he only revealed to those he trusted whole-heartedly. I was deeply honoured to be considered one of those trusted few and it constantly amazed me that someone burdened with so much could be so… wonderful.

Peter, on the other hand, was just so bumbling and bashful that it was impossible not to grow attached to him. He was the sort you wanted to keep close to you, under your wing, to keep him from tripping over his own feet. I was pretty sure he was capable of taking care of himself, but my maternal instincts couldn't help themselves.

And, of course, James, who I'd grown up with, who I'd run around starkers with when we were three, and with whom I'd played out all sorts of imaginary scenarios, such as rescuing the damsel in distress (he acted out his fair share of damsels, I can tell you) or running about the tombs of Ancient Egypt, saving each other from this Dark Curse and that possessed mummy.

In fact, it was James who'd first encouraged me to follow my dreams of becoming a curse breaker for Gringott's bank. We'd both had the childhood aspirations of doing something adventurous and dreadfully fascinating, but I was the one who'd actually carried on that aspiration into adolescence and now, adulthood.

But Sirius was another matter, entirely. He was an enigma. I just didn't get him sometimes. I'd known him for nearly seven years, and yet I couldn't help feeling there was still so much I didn't know _about_ him. It wasn't that he was particularly secretive, nor that I'd simply overlooked asking him, but it seemed that anytime the topic of conversation got too close to his personal (especially his home) life, I would suddenly find myself either talking about something entirely different, or sitting abruptly alone, where moments before I'd had company.

And I never realized, until hours later, that I still had yet to get anything out of him, so skilful was he at changing the subject or weaselling his way out of a touchy issue.

Our relationship itself was a puzzle that I was only thus far a third of the way to figuring out. One minute we'd be at each other's throats; the next, curled up on the couch together, sound asleep (he also happened to be an avid napper, one of the few things we had in common), or else laughing and cracking jokes at each other's expense.

Stranger still was that, despite his many vulgar innuendoes and endless propositions, he'd never so much as tried to sleep with me, nor laid a hand on me in an inappropriate fashion. This was Sirius Black we were talking about, here—the Hogwarts man-slut with no shame whatsoever, who would sleep with a girl just to get her to stop talking (though with me, he usually preferred the less tactful approach—either telling me to shut it outright, or casually suggesting a Silencing Charm). He wasn't picky about his conquests, either.

Unless I had grossly misunderstood the situation, or else James and the rest had been lying through their teeth about his numerous exploits (and the many, many exploits themselves were being untruthful, too), then statistically speaking, I should also have been at least an attempted notch on his bedpost.

This was what made our friendship so… weird. I knew I wasn't the most hideous thing ever to walk the earth, which was the basic qualification for getting into Sirius' trousers. And yet the nearest I'd ever gotten to said trousers was during Christmas hols last year when we'd all gotten thoroughly sloshed, he'd spilled egg-nog on his lap, and I had helped him clean it off with a napkin.

I didn't particularly _want_ to sleep with Sirius, yet at the same time, I couldn't honestly say that I'd be _totally_ objected to sleeping with him, as it were. I mean, he was gorgeous, in a dark, mysterious, ruggedly sexy sort of way. But he was one of my closest friends and I wasn't about to chuck that out the window, all because I couldn't keep my (slightly deficient, I thought) hormones in check. _He_ was managing to do a fine job with his, anyway, and we all knew his previous track record for well-checked hormones.

I shook my head after a moment, realizing I'd been staring off into space, and went back to my stitching.

I decided that, even if it was causing certain unwelcome thoughts to arise in my mind, at the very least tormenting Snape was proving efficient at keeping James' off Lily Evans, which was an enormous relief to myself—and Lily too, if she was still in the same mindset she'd been in for the past five years, which, you know, I thought rather likely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Creepy Stalker-Types and Why I Love Them**

Sometime later that night, I was awoken from a dream involving Sean Connery and the licking off of strategically placed whipped cream (really, I don't know _what_ my subconscious was thinking—I was severely lactose intolerant). Though the cause for my abrupt awakening remained to be seen.

That was when I heard it. A low, slightly breathless voice, muttering the incantation for a Silencing Charm. The owner of the said voice sounded as though they'd just had a bit of a run.

And they were right beside my bed. Just what in hell had that Silencing Charm been for!

As if in answer, the heavy crimson curtains surrounding my bed parted and, against the darkness of the room outside, I saw the silhouette of a tall, menacing, wild-haired figure leaning over my bed. Panting.

I lay frozen beneath my covers, staring wide-eyed up at my apparent attacker, without uttering a sound.

For all of two seconds.

I screamed like a banshee, then reared up, struggling furiously to free myself from the tangle of bed sheets.

The dark figure jolted in alarm and they looked round behind them in panic—but it seemed that their Silencing Charm had been quite effective, as my dorm mates didn't so much as roll over in their sleep.

Still thrashing about in the bed, I screamed again when the figure shushed me—the _nerve_!—and reached out to grab my arms—at the precise moment that I finally managed to get a leg loose and gave them a solid root in the stones with the side of my knee.

It was quite clear my attacker was male.

There was a loud, somewhat squeaky curse, before the figure doubled up and toppled over—right on top of me.

I throttled him repeatedly wherever I could reach him, attempting to kick him with my pinned legs, and screaming, "Bugger off, you perv! Get off me! I'll rip out your ballocks and shove them down your throat, I'll—"

"Jesus Christ, Tia! Leave me be a bloody minute!"

My fist froze mid-swing.

It was spoken hoarsely and obviously strained with pain, but the voice was familiar.

I couldn't see a thing, as the curtains had swung closed again, but I reached out blindly in search of my wand, instead grabbing hold of something warm. It felt like a nose, if I wasn't much mistaken.

"Dabbit. Would you led go of by flippid' face?" came Sirius' voice, somewhat nasally.

I jerked my hand back with a flood of relief. "Sodding hell," I gasped. "_Sirius_?"

He groaned in response then rolled over off my legs onto the other side of me, curling into himself on the bare stretch of mattress. He carried with him the smell of rain and the faint, not unpleasant male reek of exertion. He often smelled that way after Quidditch practice, and if the somewhat bulky feel of his clothes was anything to go by, he was still in uniform.

He lay there, coiled up and whimpering and moaning and groaning (honestly, how bloody bad could it be?) for what seemed like an eternity, before he cursed again and there was a soft rustling noise as I felt him shift. Suddenly a wand-tip ignited and his features were illuminated. They were set in a grimace as he clutched between his legs and said, with a wince, "Remind me to never sneak up on you in the dark again."

"Well, what were you doing sneaking about, anyway?" I hissed, my voice hushed despite his Charm.

"Can't a bloke visit his best girly-mate once in a bloody while?" he grumbled, defensively.

My temper suddenly flared, fuelled by indignation, shock, and also a certain amount of embarrassment.

"What in bloody stinking hell are you _doing_ here? It's the middle of the night!" I sat up abruptly and gave him a sharp kick in the side through my covers, exclaiming, "Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again, you inconsiderate, lurking git!"

His breath expelled in a wheezing gust when my foot connected a second time, this time with his stomach, and we spent several breathless moments locked in a pitted struggle—me, to beat the crap out of him for taking ten years off my life with fright; him, to keep me from permanently damaging a very crucial part of his person.

I was trying to gouge out his eyes, of course. Honestly, which crucial part did you think I was talking about?

It ended when he got my arms and legs pinned by dropping himself firmly on top of me, settling the matter.

"Get off!" I ordered, bucking up. "If you just came up here for a quick leg-over, you're about to be sorely disappointed, Black."

"Much as the idea is tempting, _Spencer_," he returned sardonically, his breath warm on my face, "I seriously doubt my ability to get _anything_ over after the number you did on my cock. Sore disappointment is right."

"In that case, you wouldn't have any reason to still be lying on top of me, now would you?" I spat back, wriggling underneath his weight.

He merely cocked a brow, then grinned in such a wolfish manner that I instantly knew that had been the wrong—so very wrong—thing to say.

"Oh, but on the contrary. Did you know you happen to be quite nice to lie on? All soft and cozy and warm, a bit like a pillow. I think I might just fall asleep." Then he promptly buried his face between my t-shirt covered breasts and pretended to snore.

I squeaked in outrage, my mouth falling open.

Oh, this was lovely. Here I was, having thoughts I most certainly shouldn't be having about my best mate, who currently was lying full out on top of me, looking dreadfully sexy in the wand-light, not to mention sending delicious tingles down my spine with his nose against my breast alone.

And _I_ was a pillow.

"If you don't mind," I said, through gritted teeth, "you might tell me what the hell you're doing here. Some of us are _trying_ to sleep, you know."

"You're right," came his muffled reply from my chest region. "So do be an angel and hush up, love."

"Sirius…" I growled, warningly.

He gave an all-suffering sigh that felt searingly hot through the cotton material of my sleeping shirt, then raised his head. His tone was amiable when he spoke.

"It's just that we're so busy and distracted during the day, with your extra classes and my Quidditch, I thought now was the best time to have a chat. You know, when neither of us has to run off to be somewhere else."

I had stopped squirming, but my eyes were narrowed in suspicion—though it could have also been because his face was in such close proximity with mine that I was forced to squint in order to see him properly.

"Wait a minute—ger_off_, I said, I'm not going to bloody hit you—" I pushed myself up into a sitting position as he hesitantly drew away from me "—you're telling me you went carousing about the school halls after hours to play your latest imbecilic prank, then, that done, came up here to have a _chat_?"

He smiled winningly. "And James said you were slow on the uptake. He's a ruddy liar, that one."

My perturbed gaze narrowed even further and I shoved my tousled hair out of my eyes in irritation and an attempt to clear my still bleary head. I wasn't very good company most mornings, but waking me up in the middle of the night, without a life-threatening situation at hand, was quite possibly the least sensible thing one could do to me, especially if they expected not to have their head ripped off.

Especially if I'd just been informed that my cousin thought me a bit dim.

I took a deep breath, however, and—with Herculean effort—managed to bank down on my homicidal urges, at least for the time-being. If he pushed me, though, I would not be held responsible for my actions.

Choosing to ignore his statement, mainly because I had a feeling it would delay the proceedings and I really just wanted to go back to sleep, I said, rather pleasantly, "Look, you reigning King of Utter Wankers, you're cutting into my beauty sleep and if I end up looking like a squat hag tomorrow morning, you, sir, will be the poor soul who has to answer for it. That said, you have five minutes." I crossed my arms and stared at him.

He blinked. "To do what?"

I threw up my hands. "To bloody chat!"

"Well, we can hardly have a proper chat in only five minutes. I'll need at _least_ twenty."

"You'll get five."

"Now, do be reasonable, Tia…"

I glared at him with all my ire. "You tell me to be _reasonable_? I'll point out that it is the wee hours of the morning—"

"Er…it's eleven thirty."

"—I was woken up from a pleasant dream _very_ rudely—"

"Actually, you woke up on your own, and you were the one who was quite rude about it."

"—and there is a _boy_ in the girl's dormitories, who, if caught, will more than likely somehow get me involved in the trouble-making when I clearly had nothing to do with it. I do _not_ have to be fucking reasonable!"

"Oooh, you _are_ a cranky one when you don't get your nap," he said, shaking his hand as if to ease a sting.

Those homicidal urges were rising up again.

"Three minutes," was all I said, though, my teeth clenched.

"All right, fine. Any chatting topic that tickles your fancy?"

Inspiration struck suddenly. Of course! I knew exactly how to get him to leave in a hurry. Much as I enjoyed his company during the day, I wasn't in the mood for a chat just now, no matter whom with.

"Yeah," I replied. "How about you tell me why you left home and moved in with the Potters last summer. I still have yet to get a straight answer from you."

To my utter amazement, instead of smoothly changing the subject or making some excuse to leave, he appeared to be seriously considering my question.

At last, he spoke. "It's not something I want to get into with barely three minutes left to tell you."

I snorted derisively. "Or it's something you just plain don't want to get into. You never want to talk to me about anything important. You tell James everything, but you don't trust me, obviously, or you'd talk to me about things that matter, on occasion." My tone was becoming increasingly more petulant, the emotions I'd been holding in for some time now pouring out of their own volition. "That's all I'm good for, it seems—rolling about with in the dark and decoys."

I felt, rather than saw, him bristle.

"That's bollocks and you know it," he said, his face in the dim wand-light suddenly serious, his tone stiff.

"I _don't_ know it. When was the last time we had a serious conversation?"

"We talk all the time," he stated defensively.

I shook my head, way beyond the point of trying to get him to leave. "Flirting and Quidditch scores don't count. Girls like to have some kind of emotional connection with the people they're friends with. Joking around is fine at times, but in case you hadn't noticed, Sirius, I happen to be a girl."

His hand shot out so fast I blinked down in shock at the fingers gripping my wrist tightly. It felt as thought my skin was burning.

"Of course I know you're a girl. You think that fact isn't painfully obvious to me? I can't—"

He stopped and his expression went blank, as if he'd nearly let himself go too far. He dropped my arm quickly.

"You can't what, Sirius?" I prompted, grateful for any opening I could get. My heart was beating curiously fast. I wondered if it wasn't slightly defective.

"I…" He was staring at me quite intently, and I got the slightly unnerving feeling that he was seeing me for the first time. Then he suddenly grinned broadly and said, "I could hardly help noticing. You've got the finest pair of dragon humps on a girly mate I've ever seen. They really do make great pillows."

I huffed out a breath, regarding him contemptuously. "Prig," I muttered disgustedly, rolling my eyes, and collapsing back against my headboard as I crossed my arms in disappointment.

"Hey, that was a compliment."

"Not in my books, it wasn't."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "So get new books."

"You are a grade-A arsehole, you know that?" I leaned forward, searching through the rumpled bed covers for his wand, where it had fallen during our earlier struggle. I shoved it at him.

"Here. Your five minutes are up. Let me sleep now."

He scooted to the side of the bed obligingly, rising to his feet, then shocked me quite thoroughly by leaning down and pressing a quick, hard kiss to my lips.

He pulled away just as abruptly and winked. He was oddly breathless. So was I, I discovered.

"Nighty-night, Spencer," he said, his voice low. Then he was gone, slipping silently into the night.

I flopped back onto my pillows—then cursed loudly on a pained sob when my skull cracked against the wooden headboard. Sliding further under the covers, massaging my abused scalp, I cursed again, much more softly and much less heartfelt.

I lay in bed, wide awake for a long time afterwards, listening to the quiet, even breathing of my dorm mates and the melodic drip-drop of the ever-falling rain on the eaves outside my window. I was desperately trying—and failing—to make sense of what had just happened. As far as I knew—and taking statistics into consideration—Sirius had never snuck into a girl's bed for nothing more than the express purpose of a chat, much less to leave with only a brief—albeit incredibly stirring—kiss.

In fact, I'd been under the impression that he'd never gone to the trouble of sneaking into _any_ beds unless he was sure he was going to get a properly sweaty romp out of it.Which didn't really narrow the scope.

I knew, of course, that I _was_ slightly more important to him than most girls. I was his one and only girly-mate, after all. But he'd never before expressed even the slightest interest in actually talking to me about something truly significant. Nor had he ever kissed me before. Certainly not like _that_ and certainly not after giving me such an intense, soul-searching look.

Why now? What had changed?

Moreover, I had been sitting there for over eight minutes (yes, I'd counted, what of it?) in boxer shorts and a none-too-baggy t-shirt, and he'd not made one single licentious suggestion or overture (unless you counted the basoomer nuzzling thing, which had been very non-sexual, because it was quite obvious he'd only been playing around—he'd tried to go to sleep, for Merlin's sake!) despite more than ample opportunity.

He'd been lying full-out on top of me, even, and he'd not so much as quirked a dark eyebrow in acknowledgement of the fact, much less tried to take advantage of the situation.

This got me wondering what the hell was wrong with _me_. Why was I so different from his usual slags? True, we weren't dating, and I was somewhat involved with someone else, but when had such a minor thing as a girl already being in a relationship ever stopped Sirius?

Was I really that horribly unattractive and undesirable that he wouldn't do more than his trademark flirtation?

Although, he _had_ been giving me a rather intense stare just before I'd kicked him out. And he'd kissed me. Usually, though, I'd never known him to take 'no' for answer. Not to say he'd ever forced a girl into anything, but he had a reputation for being terribly persuasive. I couldn't think of anyone at present who would be more skilled at the art of seduction than Sirius Black. He'd only had to_ look_ at me, and I'd suddenly become all hot and bothered.

And another thing—why was he looking—I mean _really_ looking—at me now, and not before? And why was I having such a strong reaction to it?

And why did I bloody care so much?

I gradually fell back into a restless sleep, these questions repeating themselves over and over in my brain, going unanswered each time. I was just sinking blissfully over the edge of unconsciousness when I realized I had completely failed to ask how their prank on Snape had turned out.

Not very well, it seemed.

Snape was his usual greasy, insufferably horrible self—no neon-coloured hair, no mysteriously sprouted antlers, no indelibly emblazoned swear-words across the back of his robes—and James was in an uncharacteristically sulky mood.

According to Remus—who eventually managed to get the whole story out, in between fits of hysterical laughter—it hadn't actually been Peter's unconvincing posture in a dress that had ruined the whole plan. That part had gone surprising well, in fact, given that Sirius was apparently quite skilled at transfiguring breasts onto a lad.

Don't ask me why.

Their downfall had, in actuality, been the victim himself, Severus "Shampoo-what's-shampoo?" Snape. A real let-down, not to mention a shameful display of weirdness, according to the Marauders.

Their plan, as it were, had been to lure Snape out to the lake, where they would then proceed to cast a Love Charm on the Giant Squid, so that Snape was the first person it saw, resulting in the terrible slimy thing—the squid, I mean—lusting after him so that he would have it following him around everywhere, trying to hump his leg or some other disgusting act of affection (one must keep in mind that it was not I who came up with this _clearly_ cracking idea.)

The only fly in the ointment was that Snape was not, in fact, a flaming idiot with nothing better to do than follow around man-tarts in dresses. Though Peter-With-Humongous-Knockers succeeded in catching his attention, Snape—being the creepy stalker-type he was—had opted to admire him from afar, rather than actually approach Peterella (his undercover alter ego, as Sirius helpfully informed me.)

Their plans foiled by underestimating Snape's socially retarded nature (which Remus and Peter seemed to find uproariously funny), the lads had given up and gone back to their dorm—all except Sirius, who had made a brief detour, though I already knew where that had been to.

I was still thoroughly confused about the whole business, and though he never mentioned it during the day or acted any differently (the heartless, emotionless git) over the next week or so, I myself rarely thought of anything else.

Worse still, it seemed my big mouth and my equally crippling inability to keep it shut had once again done more harm than good. If anything, Sirius and I were talking even less, and about more and more trivial things (not that this last bit was a huge change for us, but it was the principle of the matter).

It was times like these I wished I had a close girlfriend to talk to. The lads were my best friends, but let's face it, they were still proud members of the male population and therefore completely clueless as to the complexities of the female psyche. Not that I had any idea what the hell was going on with me, either, but it still would have been nice to bitch to someone who understood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: The Noble (mmphmhahaha!)and Most Ancient House of Black**

Come Friday night, I was more than a little annoyed with Sirius.

He could act as cool as a cucumber, completely unaffected by what had happened the other night, and I was one step away from picking up my fingernail chewing habit again.

And it was his fault entirely.

I lay in bed that night, staring up at the bed-canopy I couldn't see, struggling to work out the answers I couldn't understand.

Where did he get off ruffling me like this? I happened to have a life (no, really), one that he was doing a pretty fair job of turning on its ear. My sleep was suffering, my grades were dropping (which, to be honest, isn't saying much) and it seemed like the only thing I ever thought about was him. Even someone as interesting as Sirius can get a little annoying if they refuse to bloody get out of your head!

Well, there was only one thing for it. If I was going to go mad, I sure as hell wasn't doing it alone.

I flipped back my covers, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and leapt up. I silently pulled a jumper over my pyjamas, and a thick pair of socks, then crept out of the room, careful not to wake my dorm-mates, as I didn't fancy getting caught out of bed past curfew.

I'll say this—living with the Head Girl herself had its downside. But then, having the Head Boy as your cousin was pretty damn convenient.

The common room was dark and empty, the fire in the grate reduced to carefully banked embers, and I hurried across it and up the pitch-black stone stairwell leading up to the boys' dormitories.

I knew the exact lay out of the seventh-year dorm by heart, having spent so much time up there with the lads, and so when I quietly opened the door, just as quietly shutting it behind me, I knew exactly where to go.

I also knew teenage boys, and so stepped very carefully in order to avoid tripping over the scattered mess of clothes, shoes, school bags, those slippy magazines that, when mistakenly trod on, will give you a strained groin muscle for the next month-and-a-half due to your performance of some amazing and completely unintentional acrobatics, and various other treacherous objects that were invariably strewn all over the bloody place.

I'd just raised a hand to part Sirius' bed curtains, having safely reached his bed, when a thought suddenly occurred to me.

What if he wasn't in his bed?

It wasn't necessarily unlikely that he was off somewhere with some girl. He often spent the night in a bed that wasn't his own. Well, that's not entirely true.

He was rarely there for a whole night.

Worse, what if he _was_ in his bed, but he wasn't alone?

I shook my head quickly, disposing of the notion. As far as I knew (and I liked to think I was privy to rather a lot; concerning his sex life at least—not like he wasn't all too happy to share), he'd never brought a girl back to his bed. I didn't know exactly why this was, but there were rather a lot of things I didn't know about him.

Git.

With determination, I parted the bed curtains, climbed onto the edge of the mattress, then cast a quick Silencing Charm, taking a page out of Sirius' book. I did it twice, just in case I'd bungled it the first time.

I could hear him breathing. Deep and slow, like that of a person in deep slumber. I could smell him. He'd had a shower before bed, I guessed—he smelled freshly of soap, of warmth—of the faintly electric smell that was Sirius.

Tucking my wand in my pyjama pants pocket, I crawled toward the top of the bed, careful not to tread on him.

He murmured in his sleep, then made a soft, snuffling sound. "Tia?" he said, his voice muffled by the pillow, though he was clearly still sound asleep.

I paused, wondering at how he could know it was me even in slumber, then reached out to grab his shoulder—or what I hoped was his shoulder—and shook him lightly.

He came awake abruptly, half-rising, and exclaiming, "Wh—what? Whassgoinon?"

"Shh!" I hissed, unsure of how well my Silencing Charm had worked. Charms was one of my better classes, but definitely not my best. "It's me."

"Spencer?" He rolled over, sighing sleepily. "Okay, then. Come to bed, love."

A long arm snaked out, wrapping around my shoulders, and I suddenly found myself all but _cuddled up_ against him. He slept without a shirt, I discovered.

This is just like when we take a nap, I told myself sternly, firmly shutting out all thoughts of just what his sleep-thickened statement had implied.

"Soft," he mumbled. "Warm." He rolled again, gathering me against his front, his arm draped heavily over my waist.

I sighed, in spite of myself. This was really quite nice. And warm, too; he had that right.

His breath was light on the back of my neck, causing goose bumps to rise on my skin.

"Did you want something, before I pass out again?" he asked, his voice a sleepy mumble.

I couldn't think of a thing, at present.

"Just… to chat, I suppose," I said at last, feeling a bit foolish.

I felt his breath expel down the back of my collar as he chuckled. I shivered.

"Do I have five minutes again?" He sounded like his eyes had dropped closed, like he was already falling back asleep.

"Erm… well, I can't really kick you out of your own bed, now can I?" I closed my own eyes, settling against him more comfortably.

"You may have to, if you rub your arse any closer."

He suddenly sounded much more awake.

I squeaked in horror, jerking said arse a few inches forward, my face burning. I was just glad it was dark and he couldn't see my embarrassment.

After a few moments of agonizingly loud silence, Sirius took a deep breath and said, "Tia, I hope you know I'd never do anything to you if I knew you didn't want me to."

Oh, if only he knew what I wanted him to do.

"Well… thank you," I said, warily.

"I just… want you to know I don't think of you that way."

I stiffened, in spite of myself. "Oh?"

"I mean—" He seemed to have realized he'd offended me somehow. "Not _that way_, because I do think of you that way—I mean, who can blame me? But I don't—what I mean to say is that you… well, Christ, Tia, you mean more to me than a quick shag. And that's saying a hell of a lot, as we're not even shagging at all."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.

"I didn't think it was as funny as all that," he said, petulantly, his tone sulky.

I shook with silent laughter, rolling over and wrapping my arms around him in a hug. I finally managed to speak, though my voice still trembled with mirth. "And here I was, thinking there was something wrong with me. Are you telling me you never tried to do the dirty deed with me because you _respect_ me too much?"

"Well… yeah. Shouldn't I respect you?"

Coming from Sirius, this was just too funny. I rested my forehead against his collarbone and kept on laughing.

Well, this was an interesting new revelation. He was attracted to me. And he was too noble to do anything about it.

Sirius. Noble.

Fancy that.

I started off on a fresh peal of laughter, and I felt him pinch my side lightly.

"_What_ do you find so bloody amusing about what I just said?" he demanded.

I'd been stressing out over this for a week, and all for nothing. This was lovely. I could sing.

I didn't, though, and thank Merlin for small miracles.

That was when it hit me. I'd been stressing out over this for a week, because of him. And now he would pay.

"So…" I smiled up at him under my lashes, even though I knew very well he couldn't see me. "You think about me 'that way', do you?"

I pressed deliberately closer.

I thought I heard his throat working, but his voice was perfectly smooth when he replied, "It's not like I'm the only one. Like I said, who can blame me?"

"Who, indeed?" I was thoroughly intrigued at this point. I allowed my hand to trail down his back a bit and I felt the fingers resting lightly against mine tighten briefly.

"Don't tease me, Tia," he warned, gruffly.

"Who's teasing?" I dropped my hand purposefully to his arse, and squeezed.

He jerked in surprise, his breath hissing between his teeth, then cursed when I burst out laughing again.

I rolled away from him, still giggling, and pulled the covers up to burrow under them. I settled on my back, with a few inches of space between us, and lay grinning up at the dark canopy.

"You are really evil, you know that?" Sirius grumbled, rolling onto his back also.

I grinned, the covers nestled cosily under my chin. "I couldn't resist. Now, we may as well chat, since I'm here. Any chatting topic tickle your fancy?" I mimicked, earning me a nudge in the thigh with his knee.

"Nothing in particular."

"Hm. Let me think a minute, then."

I knew what I wanted to talk about. I still wanted—needed—to know about his family. But I decided against that subject and instead inquired, "Full moon is when—two weeks away? Are you lot going out again?"

I felt rather than saw him nod, before sighing gustily.

"That's the plan, anyway."

"I wish I could go with you," I grumbled, dredging up the usual argument when it got to be this time of the month (not _that_ time, but the time for Remus' transformation). "James still won't let me anywhere near the four of you on full moon."

"I happen to agree with him," Sirius said, dredging up his usual response. "You'll get no sympathy from me, love."

I gave him a look through the dark, imagining that I could still shoot daggers at him despite his not being able to see it.

We lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until he spoke again.

"Can I keep coming to see you, Tia? I mean, in your room? I meant what I said the other night, about not being able to talk to you during the day, because we're both so busy."

I thought a moment, then decided, "Okay. But on one condition."

"I already told you I wouldn't try anything."

"Not that. The condition is that every night you come to see me, you have to tell me one thing about yourself. Not silly stuff I already know, but… something that matters to you. You matter to me too, you know."

He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Fair enough. It's a date. Now, I've thought of a chatting topic."

"Let's hear it, then," I said, pleased, and snuggled deeper under the covers.

"Josie Abbott's very exceptional rack—a masterpiece of Nature or wizard?"

Saturday morning I woke bright and early—well…before noon, anyway—and stumbled groggily out of bed and into the shower. Sirius had stayed well into the wee hours of the morning the night before (we'd spent one-hundred-and-twenty-seven minutes arguing about the general importance of pie—I thought nay, he thought abso-bloody-lutely—and yes, I'd counted. Again.)

Let's just say I wasn't feeling particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed because of it.

I couldn't stay curled under my cozy cocoon of blankets all day, however, no matter how appealing the idea was. I had plans with Andrew McPherson, my not-quite-boyfriend, to meet in Hogsmeade for a butterbeer; and so I resisted the temptation of warm blankets and fluffy pillows and instead indulged in a very hot shower.

It took me a while to wake up, even standing under the near-scalding spray, but the shampoo suds dripping into my eyes took care of that.

They were probably bloodshot and slightly puffy now, but at least I'd be totally alert for my date.

Stepping out of the shower stall, rather annoyed with soap in general at the moment, I towelled off, then stood in front of the mirror to begin the tiresome grooming process.

Quick hair-drying spell here, somewhat more complicated glamour charm there, and I had the hair-and-makeup bit out of the way. My mincers didn't look quite so wino-esque anymore, at least, which was always a plus.

I lingered in front of the mirror a bit longer than I was prone to, eyeing my reflection critically. I definitely looked a bit more tired than usual, but that was entirely Sirius' fault and nothing to be done about it.

I had a nice face, I decided. Nothing special, though Mum said I was so much prettier when I smiled. My eyes were hazel and thick-lashed, the same I shared with James, Mum, and Aunt Meg, though myself and the last two had been spared the necessity of glasses—James got that from Uncle Robbie.

My nose was too long, I thought; my mouth too wide. James used to tease me that I'd be able to catch flies with it, though he'd stopped by now. Either because he'd gotten more mature, or I'd grown into my features.

I thought the latter was more likely.

My hair was my father's; the colour of caramel, poker-straight, and dead boring. I tried to liven it up (or rather, Mum had insisted I liven it up) by getting it cut into a sort of choppy, jaw-length style. It suited me, too, even though Uncle Robbie said it made me look like an imp (although I think—I _think_—he meant it as a compliment.)

I pushed said hair off my forehead, wrinkling my nose at my reflection, and pulled a face.

"It'll stick like that if you're not careful," the mirror informed me matter-of-factly.

I stuck my tongue out at it, then walked back into the dorm where I dressed quickly (can't go wrong with jeans, right?). I seemed to have run entirely out of clean socks, however.

Given that the road to Hogsmeade had been reduced to slimy mud and treacherous puddles, sandals were not quite appropriate footwear, under the circumstances. And since wearing shoes/boots barefoot happened to be one of my pet peeves, I found myself in rather a pickle.

The dorm was empty aside from myself, so I couldn't borrow a pair off one of the girls, and I wasn't about to take them without asking. Leaving only one solution.

I went downstairs in my bare feet, pulling on a bulky black cardigan (it was drizzling today and also a bit chilly), my boots in hand.

Upon entering the common room, I saw that a smattering of Gryffindor students were scattered about, lounging in the squashy arm-chairs and seated around the various tables situated about the room. Among them, in our usual spot near the fire, were Remus and James. The former had his nose in a book—one of Muggle poetry, I saw; his usual "light" weekend reading—while the latter was toying with what I referred to as his pet Snitch. I'd named it Olga.

It appeared that Sirius and Peter were still sleeping, which was just as well, as they would both more than likely want to know where I was going, and a lot of awkward questions would ensue. Neither of them liked Andrew very much, though I couldn't imagine why.

I made my way over to my cousin and Remus, plopping down on the couch between them when I reached them.

Olga immediately began vibrating madly as soon as I sat down and I snatched her out of the air to croon baby-talk to her for a moment.

James stared at me with raised eyebrows, before snatching her back and stowing her safely away in his pocket.

"Why are your eyes all red and squinty?" he asked, without preamble.

I glared at him. "Whatever are you talking about?" I said, slowly and menacingly.

His eyes widened a bit and he went on hastily, "But, you know, now that I look closely, I don't see anything wrong with them." He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Nope."

I turned away from him after a moment and announced, "I need socks."

Remus lowered his book an inch or two at these words, staring at me over the top of the pages.

"You need what?"

"Socks. I've run out."

Remus and James both peered down to look at my feet and I curled in my bare toes self-consciously, saying, "Anyway, I know you've got some, and I need to meet Andrew in a half hour, so hand them over."

James bent obligingly, starting to remove his own socks.

"What are you doing?" I exclaimed.

He glanced at me over the bent curve of his shoulder. "Giving you my socks," he said, as if it was obvious.

"I can't wear those!"

"And why not?"

"They're _dirty_."

"I've only had them on an hour!" he said, clearly offended.

"Yes, but they've touched your feet. And are probably all stretched out, too, come to think of it. They'd never fit like that."

He narrowed an eye at me, but pulled his sock back on and rose, mumbling, "What is it with you and feet?"

"I don't like them and they don't like me. Rather a simple concept to grasp, I think."

Remus snorted behind his book and James rolled his eyes, but the latter bounded up the stairs to the boys' dorm with minimal verbal protest.

He returned a minute later and tossed a clean pair of plain white socks in my lap.

"There you go. Don't say I never do anything for you," he told me, dropping back down onto the couch as I began to unfold the socks.

I cast him a sidelong look as I pulled them on, but said only, "Thanks, James."

"Yeah. Oh, and Pads woke up while I was getting them and I told him where you were off to," James said, casually.

My eyes widened in alarm but he seemed not to notice and went on, rubbing a hand over his mouth in apparent bemusement.

"He asked me to pass on a message, though he _was_ half-asleep at the time, so maybe you shouldn't pay it any mind."

"What is it?" I inquired warily.

"He said, 'Enjoy your date with the snogging-extraordinaire. Love, Footstool.'"

I snorted, both in relief and genuine amusement, causing James' confusion to increase and Remus to peek again out from behind his book.

"That makes sense to you?" Remus asked in amazement.

"God, no," I laughed. "But I understand it." I stood, having laced on my boots as well, and said, "I'll see you lot later."

They murmured twin farewells, puzzlement still evident, and as I stepped through the portrait hole, I realized that what I had said was more appropriate than I'd first thought. Sirius and whatever was between us made no sense to me, though I thought that maybe—_maybe_—I was beginning to understand him a little bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: I'd Go Out With Her in a Heartbeat**

I didn't try particularly hard to be on time in getting to Hogsmeade, but I still found myself stepping into the Three Broomsticks ten minutes early.

I scanned the rather crowded bar-room for sign of my date but I either couldn't see him, or he'd not arrived yet, so I made my way through the hot, smoky, teeming throng of students and other tenants over to the bar and ordered a butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta.

She smiled toothily at me as she popped the cap off a frosty bottle (the lads preferred their butterbeer hot, but the thought of warm beer disgusted me so much I could barely stand to sit near them while they drank it) and handed it to me across the shiny wooden bar, her beaded earrings dangling nearly all the way to her shoulders and winking merrily in the dim tavern light.

"Got yourself a boy-toy, have you?" she remarked cheekily, leaning her elbows on the bar and grinning at me.

I blushed ridiculously and spluttered, "What? No, not—how did you know I was meeting someone?"

"You came alone," Madam Rosmerta replied, with a sly wink. "Which means you don't want your bloke friends hanging around—crowding you, shall we say?"

This was slightly absurd, but I just nodded with a murmured thanks and left to find a table.

I managed to snag an empty one with a pair of chairs near the rear of the tavern and I settled myself in one seat, setting down my butterbeer, then pulled off my cardigan and draped it over the back of the other.

Thus settled, I sipped at my drink and began people-watching as I waited for the arrival of my 'boy-toy' apparent. I'd never thought of Madam Rosmerta as old before that moment.

There were quite a few Hogwarts students present, drinking tankards of hot butterbeer (ugh) and more than a few public displays of affection (double ugh.) Exhibitions, if we're being truthful. Merlin, one would think we were in Madam Puddifoot's, the way the couples were carrying on in front of everybody.

Even if Andrew and I snogged a bit, I'd at least have the decency to go _behind_ the tavern. Or—wait—that doesn't sound very decent at all. Perhaps I'd just have to keep it strictly G-rated, simply to avoid confusion.

If Sirius were my boy-toy, though, I might consider becoming an exhibitionist. We could join a travelling circus, maybe, and spend the rest of our married lives doing our spectacular snogging act onstage for the enjoyment of, er… tens.

Hang on. When had we gotten married?

_This_ was precisely why not getting enough sleep was something I tried to avoid at all costs. Not that I was particularly "normal" at the best of times, but this exceeded even my limits of what I considered acceptable in the presence of other human beings. Because _I_ most certainly was a human being.

Tia to brain: shut up, now.

I took a long, only slightly desperate pull on my butterbeer, wishing I'd ordered something a bit stronger. Bloody Sirius. What was he playing at, anyway? Sleep was far more important than him—clearly—and who was he to assume he could just keep me up all hours of the night talking about nonsense?

Rather lovely nonsense, though.

"Er, hello, Tia."

I jumped at the voice, despite the din in the rest of the tavern, and looked up to see Lily Evans standing by my table, looking a bit concerned and wary.

"Are you all right?" she asked, eyeing me critically. "You look a bit pale and… bunged up."

Bunged up. Wonderful. It seemed as though I'd not have to make any conscious effort to keep things okay for the kiddie-winkies, after all. Telling by everyone else's reactions to my appearance so far, Andrew wouldn't want to touch me with a ten-foot pole.

"I'm fine," I assured her, though I couldn't help noticing I sounded more like I was trying to convince myself. "Fine. Erm… I just got a bit of shampoo in my eyes this morning. In the shower, you know."

"Oh," Lily said, shifting on her feet. "I… I could probably fix it, if your eyes are hurting you."

They weren't, not anymore, but it was becoming glaringly obvious that others could see the result quite clearly.

"Oh," I said, too, in surprise. Not only was Lily Evans voluntarily coming up to me a rare occurrence (though, James wasn't with me for once, so I rationalized that probably had something to do with it), but the fact that she seemed to be a bit uncomfortable about it made the whole thing slightly weird. "Could you?"

She nodded, drawing out her wand, and murmured a quick spell, waving the wand slowly in front of my face. A cool, soothing sensation passed under my closed eyelids and I opened them, blinking blearily several times.

"There, that's better," Lily said, seeming pleased.

"It does feel better," I said, rubbing my eyes experimentally. "Thanks, Ev—er, Lily."

Her face fell slightly, a flash of annoyance in her eyes, but then it disappeared when she smiled faintly and said, "It's no problem. I've gotten quite good at that charm, with waking up so many mornings after a long night of cramming for a test."

I returned the smile. "Is that how you do it?" I joked. "And here I was thinking you were just naturally perfect."

Her look was a bit wry, something I'd not expected. I hadn't been aware Lily even possessed a sense of humour. "I'm afraid your idiot cousin's putting me on a pedestal has cast me in a rather misleading light."

I shrugged, sipping my drink. "You could do worse."

Her thin, deep-red brows snapped together and she opened her mouth to make some reply, when I felt an arm slip around my shoulders and teeth fasten lightly onto my left earlobe.

"Hullo, darling," a deep voice said in my ear, breath warm and damp on the sensitive skin of my neck.

I squirmed and actually giggled aloud as I turned to look up at Andrew McPherson, who was sporting a half-grin on his Quidditch tanned face.

"Hi," I returned. "You're late."

"Alas, forty-five seconds of precious time I could have spent with you that I'll never get back," he sighed, easing himself onto the high seat opposite me.

I grinned, then turned back to Lily to introduce her—but she'd already gone.

A little put-out, I swallowed more butterbeer, then decided that perhaps I wasn't so opposed to a bit of exhibitionist fun, after all. I had a lot of pent-up energy I needed to release, and lucky Andrew that he was the most convenient—and most talented—bloke at hand. Decision made, I shifted closer to him, rested a hand high on his thigh, and, when he choked on his butterbeer, asked curiously, "So. How was practice?"

Some time later, Andrew and I were roaming the shops that lined Hogsmeade's High Street, glancing idly in the shop windows and stopping for the occasional snog when the opportunity presented itself. He really was quite a skilled kisser.

Andrew was a Chaser for Ravenclaw's Quidditch team, and fit the part perfectly. Classic good looks with burnished blond hair, bright blue eyes and straight white teeth, he was the type who normally would have annoyed me, had his exceptional talent with a Quaffle on the pitch not redeemed his fault of physical perfection.

I could think of another bloke with physical perfection, though Sirius' just went beyond words. Nevertheless, 'perfect' seemed too generic a term to describe him. Because, technically, he wasn't. There was the scar above his right eyebrow from three summers ago, when he and James had gotten into a fistfight over some bint at a local swimming pool (back when James had yet to fully commit himself to his sole and lifelong pursuit of Lily Evans). There was the ever-so-slightly crooked eye-tooth whose tiny imperfection only added character to an already devastating smile.

And of course there were the other array of faint scars he sported all over his body in various places that I'd had glimpses of over the years. They were unexplained and not alarming, but I liked to think they told a story of his life so far and had played a part in making him the person he was today.

Oh damn. I was thinking in prose again.

I paused outside the window of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, a display of engraved objects catching my eye. There were name-plates, pens, signet rings, money clips. I suddenly had an idea.

"Let's go in a minute," I said to Andrew, tugging on his hand to get his attention.

He followed without protest and I went inside, going over to the display, in front of which was the actual selection available for purchase set out on a velvet-covered table. I scanned the selection and smiled when I spotted what I'd been looking for.

I picked up the silver lapel pin, shaped like a racing broom. I grinned with satisfaction, then took it over to the counter.

"Afternoon, miss," the shopkeeper boomed jovially. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to have this engraved," I replied, setting the pin onto the counter. I pulled towards me a slip of paper, uncapping a pen, and scribbled a message, which I handed to him. "With this."

A few minutes later, I walked out of the shop with Andrew, his newly-engraved pin proudly (if a bit puzzledly) displayed on his collar.

I knew when Gryffindor played Ravenclaw in a week, and Sirius saw the pin on Andrew's robes (I'd made him promise to wear it) with "_Snogging Extraordinaire_" engraved on it, he'd have rather a lot to say. But I decided it was worth it anyway.

It was some time around six o'clock that I got back from Hogsmeade. I'd gotten held up in the corridor by Neil Whittaker, who felt it crucial to apologize profusely for his sister's inability to ask someone out properly.

I was in a rush to get back to the common room, so I merely smiled graciously, patted him on the head, and said, "No, no, Neil, your sister was lovely. Hell, I'd go out with her in a heartbeat."

And then I was off, leaving him standing in the hallway with a look of bewilderment on his face as he processed what I'd just said.

I climbed through the portrait hole, somewhat breathless from my rush back to the school, and immediately went over to the fire, since the weather had gotten even cooler as what little sun there was wore away into twilight. My hands and the tip of my nose felt like ice.

The four lads were seated around the fire in various poses of relaxation, and I dropped onto the sofa in between Sirius and Peter, shoving aside the former in order to get a direct position in front of the heat.

"Hi, Tia," Peter said, absently, his eyes on Olga, who was currently flitting wildly about James' head while he scribbled industriously on a piece of parchment. I had no idea what he was writing about, but, knowing James, it either ran along the lines of a) a properly mushy love letter to Lily to convince her of her true feelings for him, b) the plans for his latest diabolical scheme, or, in a fit of originality, c) the plans for his latest diabolical scheme to convince Lily of her true feelings for him.

I shot Peter a grin over my shoulder, bending closer to the fire to warm my hands.

"How's Andrew?" Remus wanted to know, from where he stood behind James' chair, reading over his shoulder.

"Fine," I replied absently, untying my boots and dropping them onto the floor. I stretched out my legs to let my toes thaw out, settling back comfortably in my usual lounging position, and rolled my head to the side to look at Sirius, mouth open to ask him how his day had been.

I got a hot, very weird jolt in my gut to find him already staring at me.

My brows snapped together. "You're getting creepier and creepier these days, you know that?" I mumbled, petulantly. "I think you need to get out more."

He merely shrugged and grinned, that intense glint in his grey eyes softened somewhat by his amusement.

"Hey, Tee," James started, his voice in that dangerously cajoling tone.

"No," I said immediately.

"Oh, go on, you don't even—"

"No."

My cousin leapt out of his chair, setting aside his parchment, and Olga managed to get out of the way just in the knick of time to avoid getting a… er… ball full of James' forehead. He dropped to his knees in front of me, hands clasped together.

"Please, my dearest, darling cousin whom I love unconditionally and with all the infinitesimal pieces of my heart? Your decoy services are desperately needed and you _won't_ be disappointed with the results this time around," he wheedled, that usual charming grin of his in place.

"Absolutely not," I repeated, crossing my arms resolutely, giving him my best 'look'.

Instead of pouting, James merely smiled knowingly. It was clear I needed a new death glare—this one was losing its potency.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: The Happy Fairy**

It was Monday morning and I was in the middle of my favourite lesson, Arithmancy. Professor Ackerman was off on one of his habitual tangents (no math-nerd pun intended—he just had a bizarre talent to be talking about one thing and end up on an entirely different topic, without any of us having any idea how he'd managed to get there) and I was just trying to finish the homework he'd already assigned so that I'd have time to take a nap after supper.

Sirius had visited my room again the night before, as promised, and it had lasted well over three hours. My question of the night—the agreed upon single query into his personal, mysterious life—had been whether there was any member of his family whose slow and painful death by way of honey and a thousand fire-ants he _wouldn't_ be pleased as punch to witness. He'd come up with two names—a surprising number considering the sort of relationship I had a vague notion he shared with his immediate family—which were a cousin, Andromeda Tonks, and an Uncle Alphard.

I quite wanted to meet these people.

Anyway, as I mentioned, his visit had been a long one, and I'd yet to recover. I was well on my way to achieving that squat hag appearance so common in Freaks-Who-Function-on-Four-Hours'-Sleep.

Or am I being too harsh?

At the beginning of class, I had noticed Lily Evans' absence from her usual desk directly across from mine, one row ahead. This was especially conspicuous to me not just because my visual memory had become so accustomed to seeing her eye-catching red hair in my corner of vision, but also due to the fact that I hadn't spotted her, much less had the opportunity to actually _talk_ to her since our run-in at the Three Broomsticks, though I'd been meaning to, as I wanted to make sure I hadn't offended her.

Somehow, I got the feeling I had, and I couldn't see any rational reason for her to hate _both_ James and me. Besides, I had to live with her, and nobody likes a snarky Head Girl.

Ackerman's monotonous drone ceased rather abruptly just as I was on the verge of solving question sixteen—and feeling quite smug about it, too—and I looked up in annoyance to see what had cause the disturbance.

I spotted it in the form of one of the school's owls, which was perched just outside the classroom window, tapping its beak impatiently against the glass pane. It wasn't raining out, but it was a rather windy, gusty day, and the large, tawny bird had a distinctly ruffled look about it.

Ackerman fumbled with the window latch, his round, clean-shaven face fixed in an expression of flustered irritation. He had a long, indigo ink-smudge on the side of his chin, I noticed, with certain admiration.

At last, he got the window opened and the owl swooped in immediately, soaring across the classroom.

Much to my surprise, it landed right on top of my homework, hooted once in indignation, then stuck its leg out petulantly. A rolled up bit of official-looking parchment was attached to it.

I sat in puzzled shock for a moment—it wasn't like I never got letters, but certainly never in the middle of class—then caught the owl's impatient yellow glare and hastily untied the parchment. It took off again, as soon as I'd succeeded in freeing it of its burden, and Ackerman slammed the window after it, scowling perturbedly and muttering in evident distraction. His small, crinkled blue eyes were positively glowing with what I was sure was another brilliant outburst of arithmancitical theory.

Did I mention I was half in love with the man?

Sadly, I was too preoccupied by the feel of my classmates' curious eyes fixed on me to dwell for long on my admiration of the man's intellect, and I could feel my cheeks growing a bit hot as I stared down at the rolled parchment in mingled dread and confusion. But my own considerable curiosity won out and I unfurled the note in my lap, looking down to read the slanted, loopy dark-green cursive.

_Dear Miss Spencer,_

_Your presence is requested at a short meeting to be held immediately in the Headmaster's office. I imagine you are quite familiar with its location. The password is 'Sugar-quills". Your professor will excuse you._

_--Albus Dumbledore._

I did not like the sound of this at all. What was I being blamed for now? It had only been our previous class (Defence Against the Dark Arts) since I'd last seen James and the rest. I swear, I let them out of my sight for five minutes…

"Erm… I've got to go to Professor Dumbledore's office," I said, in answer to Ackerman's questioning gaze.

I heard a few girls in the front corner of the room snicker in response to this announcement, and I shot them a quelling glare as I quickly gathered my things and left the room—rather reluctantly, as I hated to miss a lesson of the one thing I was any good at.

But I didn't dawdle—the note had said "immediately" and my numerous experiences thus far with the school's Headmaster didn't allow me to see any advantage in doing otherwise.

I had just turned a corner into the hallway that boasted the entrance to Dumbledore's office when I noticed a girl—a sixth year, I thought—heading down the same hall, in the opposite direction as me.

I recognized her vaguely, though I couldn't recall her name. She was a Gryffindor, I knew, a year below mine. I'd seen her in the common room several times, though I'd noticed she often sat in the sidelines, off on her own—whether by choice or circumstance, I didn't know, but I now thought it a bit odd that she didn't seem to have many, if any, friends. She looked like a nice enough girl and, though probably cripplingly shy, was pleasant enough anytime someone talked to her.

She looked nothing short of terrified at the moment, walking quickly with her big, brown eyes as wide as saucers and focused steadily on the stone floor. Her long, loosely waving dark hair was tied back into a haphazard knot at the nape of her neck, and a thick lock of it had come loose and was tucked behind one ear, adding to her harried appearance. Her uniform was neat as a pin, however, her robes impeccable, and as I walked towards her I wondered idly if she wasn't the irritating sort who kept a separate drawer for only her socks, and who ironed and starched her knickers.

I didn't ask.

She spotted me heading down the hall towards her, and she gave a very credible attempt at a wobbly smile when we reached each other.

"Hello," she said in a soft, shaky, timid sort of voice that gave me a sudden, irrational urge to ply her with cupcakes and various other sweets, in exchange for her not bursting into tears altogether, which she seemed on the verge of doing.

"Erm… hi. Are you all right?" I inquired, despite myself.

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out and—to my horror—her bottom lip began to tremble.

I seriously considered dashing off to the kitchens to get her those cupcakes, and perhaps a pumpkin pasty or two. Thanks to James, I knew exactly where the house-elves kept them, too. My mum had always given me some kind of comfort food to make me feel better when I was young and it looked as though I'd taken her questionable maternal instincts to heart.

Before I could ask what the matter was, the girl took a deep, shaky breath and squeaked out, sounding positively mortified, "I've been called to the Headmaster's office."

I was somewhat relieved. And here I'd been thinking she'd suffered some horrific personal tragedy. Or had shot somebody, perhaps.

Anyway, it at least explained the girl's current emotional state—I knew her to be something of a swot, or at least the sort of person who played by the book, and I imagined something so minor and common (for me, anyway) as a trip to the Head's office must be devastating to her.

"What'd you do?" I asked jokingly, with a playful grin. "Get caught snogging in the cloakroom? Cheat on your Herbology exam?"

These things were everyday nuisances for me—especially if one considered the sort of company I kept. She, however, visibly blanched and when her eyes filled with tears of alarm, I was quick to amend my statement.

"I've been to see Dumbledore loads of times, and it's not so bad," I hastily assured her. "It's not as dreadful as it sounds, trust me. Though, half the time I've been, I'd not done anything wrong, having been unjustly accused." I clenched a fist, staring off at nothing for a moment as I recalled all the aforementioned times with a certain amount of righteous outrage.

Something in my statement must have reassured her, because she brightened considerably. "So you think there might have been a mistake?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm sure it's possible. What did they call you down for?"

Her chin quivered again. "The note didn't say. I was in Potions when I got it, and all it said was that I was to come to Professor Dumbledore's office immediately."

"Odd," I murmured. "I got a note, too, that said practically the same thing." Then I shook my head and said, with assurance, "Well, rest-assured that if we're both being accused of something we didn't do, I won't let us go down without a fight."

She smiled again, more genuinely this time, and said, "You've always had such confidence, Tia. I've seen you, with your friends… it must be difficult, having all those boys around all the time."

I could only smile. If she only knew. "Oh, I manage all right," I said wryly. Then I went on apologetically, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Oh!" She turned prettily pink and said, "It's Aubrey. Aubrey van Houlton."

"Van Houlton. I like that. It's very… distinguished."

She blushed even deeper and gave a sort of half-shrug.

"Right," I said briskly. "Shall we go up, then?"

Once upstairs, standing with Aubrey outside the Headmaster's door, I was feeling somewhat less uneasy about this so-called meeting of Dumbledore's. It appeared that if a girl I'd barely met was involved, then I could hardly be in any sort of trouble, unjust or otherwise. And anyway, I was purposely acting like it was nothing, as I didn't want her to start leaking again.

"Would you like to do the honours?" I offered, gesturing to the door-knocker.

To my surprise, she shook her head violently, causing the loose lock of hair to slip out from behind her ear. "No," she said adamantly.

My brows shot up. "All right, then; I'll do it." I knocked firmly, then waited for permission to enter.

It came almost immediately. "Do come in, ladies."

I pushed open the door and went in, Aubrey close behind me, and smiled blandly at Dumbledore's brief and shallow bow of acknowledgement.

"Good morning," he greeted, gesturing for us to take a seat in two of the three chairs in front of his desk.

I crossed the quietly tinkering room, glancing idly at the multitude of silver contraptions scattered about on various spindly-legged tables. I waggled my fingers flirtatiously at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus in passing, but he merely raised his narrow, black-bearded chin haughtily—I wasn't terribly deterred, however, as I knew he really adored me, deep-down.

Fathoms deep, obviously.

Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix and an old acquaintance of mine, squawked then yawned lazily at me in way of greeting.

"Hello, Miss Spencer, Miss van Houlton. How are you both?"

"Fine, thanks," I responded politely.

I glanced over at Aubrey when she remained silent. She was gaping at Dumbledore in petrified awe, large eyes wide again, her fingers curled around the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Her lips were pressed firmly shut, and I thought if she _had_ been able to speak, what would have come out would've been something along the lines of "Eeep!"

That, or "Holy fucking hell."

I faced Dumbledore again, settling my book-bag in my lap more comfortably, and said, "So. Read any good books lately?"

"Yes, indeed, Miss Spencer," Dumbledore replied, smiling genially. "There was a snappy little novel—very dialogue driven—about a family of chipmunks living in the cellar of a bakery. I quite enjoyed the numerous useful parallels to acorns."

"Hm. Dialogue is interesting, so long as the chipmunks have something worth saying. Although I'm afraid I'd be a bit biased towards such a book. I don't have a very great affection for fluffy-tailed, big-eyed woodland creatures." I shuddered. "Creep the hell out of me."

"I quite understand. I had the pleasure of viewing the Muggle film 'Bambi' a year or so past… I'm afraid I've never been quite the same since."

I nodded solemnly. "Now _that_ is an excellent example of crap dialogue."

I was attempting to relax Aubrey by showing her Dumbledore was nothing more, really, than a barmy old gaffer (brilliant, but barmy), and was carrying on this admittedly nonsensical conversation to try and lull her into some sense of, if not calmness, at least confusion, which I knew to be a far more comfortable emotion than sheer terror.

It seemed to be working marginally.

Dumbledore and I were just getting started on Flower the Skunk's possible mental retardation when the door to his office opened.

Turning in my seat, I saw none other than Lily Evans walk briskly in. She eyed us with brief curiosity, then folded her hands and inquired primly, "You asked to see me, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded, smiling genially, and gestured to the empty chair on my other side. "Yes. Please sit down, Miss Evans, and we can begin."

The presence of the Head Girl, of all people, only seemed to serve to petrify Aubrey even further, and I saw her hands actually begin to shake. Really, this girl needed a keeper. It was no wonder she didn't appear to have any friends—she'd be scared off by her own shadow, never mind another human being's presence.

I shot Lily a look for effectively ruining my progress at relaxing the poor girl, and was met by an expression of shocked bemusement. But I turned back to Dumbledore and asked, "Begin what, exactly?"

"Well," he said slowly, steepling his fingers. "There is a matter that needs to be discussed. Several matters, to be truthful. I won't keep you long, as lunch-hour begins shortly, but this is nevertheless rather important—even more so, I'm afraid, than what I am certain promises to be an excellent shepherd's pie."

"Professor?" Lily said, raising her brows expectantly.

"It concerns your current academic standings at this school. All three of you," he began, his sparkling blue eyes abruptly serious.

I squirmed slightly in my seat. I didn't think I was failing any of my classes—not technically, anyway—but I was almost painfully aware that there was definitely considerable room for improvement in certain subjects areas.

He paused, as if to allow for comment, but we were all silent. Lily and Aubrey looked merely confused, as if they hadn't any idea how their report cards could possibly be an issue.

That must have been nice.

Dumbledore went on. "You all have your strengths and weaknesses, the same as any normal human being. It would be unnatural to be perfect and I can't tell you how happy it makes me that none of you, or any of my students, are that. Unfortunately, certain weaknesses must be rectified or at least helped in order to advance in life. I would like to give the three of you the opportunity to use your strengths as a means to help each other's weaknesses."

That sounded rather quaint. Nice, in a way; almost idealistic. But I still had no idea what in hell he was harping on about, so I spoke up.

"Which weaknesses are you speaking of, exactly, sir?"

Lily nodded in agreement, while Aubrey stared fixedly at a point just over Dumbledore's shoulder. She didn't look quite so scared. In fact, she looked merely thoughtful. It was a good look on her.

"Sir?" I repeated, ever more apprehensively.

Dumbledore beamed at us.

Oh God.

Well, it was official. I could never look any of my friends in the eye again. I would have to lead a double-life, keeping my most shameful secrets completely hidden from those that I love.

James would never give me a moment of peace, asking me to "put in a good word." _Sirius_ would never give me a moment of peace, taking the piss out of me. Remus would want to know _how I was doing_, of all things.

And Peter… well, I wasn't entirely sure what Peter would do, but for the sake of getting my point across in a dramatic and hard-hitting fashion, I shall make something up.

Peter would feel neglected with that much less time he'd get to spend in my scintillating company.

Dumbledore was making me get a _tutor_. This wasn't, however, the worst of it. Oh, no—that bit came in the form of Lily bloody Evans.

It seemed our estimable Headmaster thought himself something of a genius. And in a fit of questionable ingenuity had decided that, as members of the same house, we should be working together as a unit to "better ourselves." Furthermore, we would be doing it completely against our will and for two hours, three evenings a week.

I lay, now, flat on my stomach in my bed, my head buried under my pillow, furious tears soaking my sheets as I cursed the name Albus Dumbledore.

I wasn't the only one who was unbelievably hacked off because of it, though, which was some small consolation. Lily herself wasn't too pleased about the situation, because—ha!—I was being made to tutor _her_ in return. Aubrey as well, both of them in Arithmancy—double ha.

Sadly, my current Charms grade was much worse than I'd thought. And as it was necessary for my graduation into Curse Breaker training, I had to pass it, something I was not—apparently—doing at present. This was where Lily came in.

It wasn't even just my pride that was stinging so badly from this blow dealt to it.

Okay, that's untrue, it was pride.

But still, I'd tried being reasonable, and Dumbledore was having none of it. I'd tried bargaining, pleading, even the silent treatment (immature, but usually quite effective with the male species.) He'd done nothing more than fold his hands and ask politely which nights I would prefer to schedule our tutoring sessions.

_Then_ after we left Dumbledore's office, I was a bit upset (oh all right, I was pouting my little arse off) and Lily practically pitched a fit at me, demanding to know what my problem was, did I not think she was good enough to tutor me, and so on. And then she called me a rude, stuck-up cow and stomped off.

The nerve! I nearly ran after her to show her just what my problem was, and possibly rearrange her face for her in the process, but I was too shocked to do much more than sputter idiotically. When Aubrey put a hand on my arm and asked me if I was all right, I snapped at her, (quite cleverly, too, obviously) "No!" before storming off myself.

Aubrey looked slightly traumatised and when I saw her again in the common room that night, she didn't look at me. I was too livid at Lily and Dumbledore and life in general to care. Much.

Lily had left the dorm an hour ago, making a great show about gathering her things and flouncing off to stay the night in her head dormitory. She could rot in there, for all I cared. Even James withheld on his usual nightly proclamation of never-ending love when he saw how rankled we both were.

The lads knew something had upset me of course—it wasn't as if I was trying to hide it. But in traditional bloke fashion, they got all fidgety and weird and started joking about to ease the tension. As a result, I was no longer speaking to Sirius either, who'd thought it would be oh-so-hilarious to charm my hair and uniform a sunny yellow, sprout sparkly wings on my back and dub me "The Happy Fairy."

This attempt at clever irony had earned him getting his fingers slammed in my Ancient Runes textbook (which was not small) and me calling him a "horrible, insensitive berk."

I sobbed into my mattress, gripping my pillow over my head even tighter and squeezing my eyes shut against the hot tears that had been falling for the past hour. I half-wished I'd not shouted at him, because I suddenly found myself wanting nothing more than to talk to him; about the tutoring, about Lily's tantrum… just to talk. The likeliness of his visiting tonight wasn't very… er… likely.

I considered going to him. I really needed to just unload, even if I'd pay for it from endless teasing later. But I had some pride, and so I stayed in my own bed, my pillow muffling my sobs, thinking up nefarious and tempting ways that a certain mad old codger and bitchy red-head could meet their untimely demises (well, I didn't suppose that Dumbledore's would be "untimely," per se…)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: A Pile of Outraged Marauders**

Next day during break, I stood with Remus shivering under one of the stone archways off the school courtyard. James was doing something Quidditch-related with one of his Quidditch mates, and Peter had gone with him. I didn't know where Sirius was (though I didn't much care, as I was fairly certain it was he I'd spotted going off to the greenhouses with Emily Brown. I hoped they got caught.)

I scowled irritably as I glanced down at my watch—wasn't break over _yet_?—then went back to hugging my elbows against the bitter wind that howled through the stone passageways of Hogwarts' main courtyard, hopping from foot to foot to prevent the chill from freezing the blood in my veins altogether. My nose was so cold it felt like it might fall off.

And if it did, then I'd really be upset.

Remus leaned against the wall, reading again, perfectly impervious to the cold. I thought it might have something to do with werewolf metabolism—just like it was extremely difficult for him to get properly smashed or… well… die. He wasn't particularly furry in his human form, but I supposed it had a lot to do with hot-bloodedness. I should know—I'd snuggled up to him in the common room on many a winter's night, and the boy was a bloody furnace. Smelled rather nice, too.

I stepped stealthily closer to Remus, teeth chattering, and wrapped my cloak tighter around myself. I couldn't quite feel his heat, but he did a decent job of blocking out some of the wind.

He calmly turned a page in his book, a look of interested thoughtfulness on his face, and went on reading.

I slipped nearer still, bending under the guise of checking the laces on my boots, thus bringing me in even closer proximity with him when I straightened up.

I coughed.

"Tia?"

"Yeah?"

"Cold, much?"

I looked up at him, open-mouthed, but then he held open the folds of his cloak with his free hand, raising a brow, and I grinned gratefully, stepping into his extended arm. He wrapped this, along with his cloak, around my back and I settled comfortably against him.

Ah, lovely. Still a nice-smelling furnace. At least _some_ things never changed.

"It's sadistic how they make us stand out here for thirty pointless minutes every day," I said, burying my frozen nose in his shoulder.

I felt him chuckle. "You don't seem to mind so much in the springtime."

"That's because it's possible to actually _do_ something then, without risk of frostbite of the arse region," I grumbled, tucking my frozen fingers under my arms, turning slightly beneath his cloak so I could look up at him.

He wasn't looking at me, though—his gaze was fixed on something behind me, and he appeared vaguely worried.

Curious, I turned.

Andrew McPherson was standing there, a horrible, dark look of fury contorting his handsome features, his fists clenched. He was glaring at Remus rather hatefully.

"Andrew," I said in surprise. "What the hell is wrong?"

He turned his glare on me. "Wrong? My girlfriend is getting nice and cosy with another bloke, and you ask me what's _wrong_?"

"This?" I said with a snort, gesturing to Remus and I huddled together. "Please, Andrew, this doesn't go beyond a mutual desire for survival in subzero temperatures. And anyway, Remus is my mate—you know that."

"I know that you hang around with too many blokes for my liking," he said, eyes narrowing unattractively.

"Well that's news to me," I said, stepping away from Remus to face Andrew properly. I put my hands on my hips, brows shooting up. "You never had a problem with my friends before. "

"It's what you're doing with them that I have a problem with," he told me, grabbing my wrist. "Let's go somewhere private, shall we?"

I jerked my arm away. "No, I don't think so. Since when do you have the right to dictate who I hang around with, much less what I do with them?"

He went quite red in the face. "Since I became your boyfriend!"

"I don't recall ever agreeing to that, McPherson," I snapped coldly, my abrupt switch to surnames causing him to look stunned. "The way I remember it, you snogged me after the last Quidditch match and just assumed you could keep doing it."

"This is the first time you've complained about it," he snarled nastily.

"Because this is the first time you've acted like a complete arsehole!"

People were starting to stop and stare at us, crowding around us in anticipation of a good public row. I was all too ready to oblige them, but it seemed Andrew had other ideas.

"Fine!" he shouted—rather childishly, I thought. "If I'd known you were only with me because you're easy, I'd never have bothered. Go whore yourself to your supposed mates for all I care!"

My mouth dropped open—this was the second time in two days I'd been insulted like this, and I didn't like it very much at all. But before I could get my wand out to hex him like he deserved, he swung round to storm off—only to have his nose connect with Remus' fist.

"Bloody f—"

Both of them went tumbling to the ground, fists flying, and I'd not yet recovered from the shock of seeing Remus Lupin _hit_ someone, before the crowd was forcibly parted and James and Sirius swooped down on the brawling pair, pulling them both apart.

A moment later, the four boys stood in either half of the lop-sided circle formed by the crowd, with me on the sidelines. Remus was being helped to his feet by James, while Sirius was just trying to keep Andrew from killing him—not that Remus hadn't done quite a bit of his own damage to Andrew's formerly pretty face. Peter, appearing out of nowhere, put a hand on my arm and asked if I was all right. Nodding shakily, I continued to stare at the scene before me.

"Right, then," Sirius said, a tad breathlessly, flicking his mop of black hair out of his eyes as he struggled to keep hold of a clearly furious and nicely bloodied Andrew. "What fresh hell is going on?"

I was wondering quite the same thing, but suddenly conscious of just how many other students were avidly watching the proceedings, I said, "Nothing, just let him go, and let's get out of here. Come on, Pete—" I tugged on Peter's arm, but he didn't budge, his own attention focused on Andrew himself.

Sirius did let him go, as Andrew had calmed down a bit, but the former fixed me with a quizzical look, right before Remus, touching the tip of his tongue gingerly to his split lip, said, "He called Tia a whore. What was I supposed to do?"

At this, both James and Sirius whirled on Andrew and shouted simultaneously (and respectively), "You called my cousin a _what_?" and "Oi, I'm the only one who can call Spencer names!"

Andrew promptly disappeared under a pile of outraged Marauders.

It was a sweet gesture, of course—I won't deny that, even though I didn't openly believe in that whole chivalry-isn't-dead, knight-in-shining-armour rot—but I was very much a girl, and who didn't like to feel special every now and then?

The lads all thought that Andrew was what had been bothering me the past couple of days and they were all swaggering about, quite proud of themselves—except for Remus, of course, who was horrified by the detention that brawling with another student had earned them all.

But I thought he was secretly gloating about the black-eye Andrew now sported.

Truthfully, though, Andrew breaking things off with me just capped everything else that had happened that week, despite how little I really cared for him (he sent me back his "Snogging Extraordinaire" pin, with a note that said—quite unnecessarily, I might add—"Do you have these made by the pound?").

Lily did nothing but throw me nasty looks every time we saw each other (not to say I wasn't throwing them right back—and of course, mine were much nastier, as I'd had so much more practice) and any time I spotted Dumbledore, I got this sick, uneasy, completely furious feeling in my stomach. Aubrey smiled at me once, a bit shakily, but it was right after I'd gotten that note from Andrew (a.k.a. The Slimy Git Who Thinks He's Clever But Isn't) and I couldn't work up much more than a sullen "All right?"

I bet she thought I really was a rude, stuck-up cow.

Not that I could blame her.

By the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around, I was quite fed up with people as a collective whole. In my esteemed opinion, people could sod off, and like it.

I was sitting at the Gryffindor table, trying to find the motivation to eat my steak-and-kidney pie. Andrew had just walked past with his Quidditch mates and _all_ of them looked at me like I was this disgusting slimy thing, unfit to smear the bottoms of their shoes—though they moved on rather quickly after Sirius pulled out his wand and casually began polishing it.

"Poncey gits," James grumbled, "I can't bloody _wait_ until Saturday—then we can clobber him properly, _and_ add salt to Ravenclaw's wounds by kicking their scrawny arses in the match." He said all this with that restless, sort of shifty expression he got when a Quidditch game loomed near.

Sirius, who played as one of the Beaters for Gryffindor, grinned maliciously and said, "They can't stop me sending a Bludger at the wanker's pretty blond head. It's his own fault if he doesn't duck in time."

Even Peter, who wasn't normally an openly fierce sort of person, seemed thoroughly ticked about the whole mess.

"I hope you do get some good shots in, Pads, after what he said," Peter proclaimed, almost viciously.

Remus seemed a bit uncomfortable about it all, in retrospect, but nodded his agreement.

"'Course, Moony here can always be lying in wait for the rat-bastard if we don't manage it ourselves," Sirius said proudly, slapping Remus—who at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed—on the back, in congratulations for his performance at yesterday's events.

I ignored them, pushing my food—which was now nothing more than an indistinguishable pasty mush—around my plate with my fork.

Tonight was my first "session" with Lily and Aubrey and I was _not_ looking forward to it. In fact, if I thought about it for too long, I got quite irritated and twitchy.

Twitchy was not a good sign.

Maybe if I simply refused point-blank to attend the tutoring sessions and instead got one of the lads to help me?

No, wait—I'd already tried that. Dumbledore had shot that one down before it was even fully out of my mouth. Said they "lacked responsibility," which was kind of true, but still—there wasn't any need to bring _their_ shortcomings into it, too. Bit rude, actually.

What about if I pretended to have an accident and then I could use that extra time bought by a stay in the hospital wing to think up a better plan?

Sadly, pretending things wasn't very mature, and I was nothing if not silly. I mean anything but not silly.

Er…

"You all right? You look in a bit of pain," Sirius observed.

I scowled. "Shut up. For your information, I am trying to think up a solution to a terrible dilemma in which I am currently stuck, something you wouldn't understand even if you stopped with your stupid ideas to jump Andrew from behind long enough to listen. Beating the crap out of my ex-bloke just so you can stroke your own delicate egos is hardly appreciated. In fact, if you'd take your heads out of your arses and think about something _other_ than Quidditch, pranks, and shagging for two seconds put together, that'd be really lovely, thanks very much!"

I'd yet to forgive him for going off with that Emily slag yesterday at break.

All four of them stared at me—James with a forkful of potatoes halfway to his mouth, which hung open rather thickly.

Sirius blinked. "You're welcome?"

"Oooh, you fucking _prig_!" I stood up to glare furiously down at him, still huffing breathlessly from my earlier diatribe, then slung my book-bag over my shoulder, and stalked off.

Dumbledore would pay. I would never rest until I'd learned James' Curse of the Backdoor Trots and used it on him (Dumbledore, obviously, not James.)

Repeatedly.

I stood outside the library that evening at seven o'clock, fuming and pacing and all that wonderful stuff you do when you're seriously annoyed.

I'd talked to the man about '_Bambi_', for chrissake. And he'd let me. He'd let me go on and on about the sodding movie, and now I was being forced to spend two hours, three nights a week with Lily "You Cow" Evans.

Perhaps it wasn't too late to take myself up on that accidental accident idea. Or perhaps I'd just do the thing properly and have a real accident.

How difficult could it be? Bit painful, maybe, but really, what were a couple bumps and scrapes in exchange for sweet, sweet freedom?

I covertly eyed the suit of polished armour standing a few metres away near the top of the hall, which gripped a gruesome-looking axe in its fisted gauntlet. A little trip—possible loss of limb—and _voilà_, instant justification for skipping the tutoring session. Madam Pomfrey would be able to sew whatever it was back on, wouldn't she?

I didn't get the chance to find out.

"Fancy meeting you here, Spencer. I wasn't aware your lot could read."

I turned round at the soft, sleek voice, and glared up at the scowling, hook-nosed, greasy face of Severus Snape.

"Only books with lots of pictures and really small words," I retorted, matching his look. "What about you? I wasn't aware your lot ventured out of the dungeons." I smiled with deceptive sweetness. "That whole issue with sunlight and human companionship, you know."

He glowered. "Very amusing, I'm sure. At least some of us make the effort to study and get halfway decent marks, as opposed to… others."

That hit just this side of too close to home and I shoved past him with a petulant look, marching into the library.

This had a certain disadvantage, however, as now I was actually _in_ the library.

Bugger.

Rather than stay here and exchange pleasantries with Snape, I started towards the back of the library, where tables were set up for the students' use.

I couldn't see either the red-head bint or Aubrey, so I sat at an empty table across from some Hufflepuff fourth years and began removing my Arithmancy and Charms material from my bag. Loudly.

A pair of Ravenclaws shot me twin looks of disapproval, but I merely slammed down my Arithmancy textbook and flipped them off.

At that moment, Lily Evans plunked down into the chair across from me, narrowed her eyes at me and snapped, "Look, I'll not fail my Arithmancy course just because we can't stand each other, so if you're willing to put aside our differences three nights a week, then I am too."

I said nothing for a long moment. What I was really willing to do was claw her stupid green eyes out, but I held myself in, and said through gritted teeth, "Fine."

"All right." She nodded once, shortly, in a very annoying way, and set down her own books. "Have you seen Aubrey van Houlton anywhere?"

"I don't keep a leash on the girl," I replied tetchily, but then remembered our supposed truce and grudgingly amended, "No, I haven't."

She eyed me a moment, but said only, "We'll just wait 'til she gets here, then."

"Yes, we will."

"All right, then."

"All right."

"Okay."

"Indeed."

We stared narrowly at each other, then turned away simultaneously and didn't speak or acknowledge the other's existence until Aubrey arrived five minutes later.

I entered my room later that night, in both a confused and not altogether accomplished mood.

The session had been… weird. Very weird. Awkward, most definitely, and we managed to get very little work done in between silent bickering and our own refusal to listen to anything the other had to say. Only Aubrey left the library with a smile of understanding on her face—having been perfectly willing to listen to my explanation of quadratic spells, and Lily's view on the advantages of hellebore (she was helping Aubrey with her Potions class, though I didn't think she expressed herself very well at all.)

Anyway, the short and short of it was that I still disliked Lily Evans intensely, my grasp on Charms was still not nearly as thorough as I'd have liked it to be, and she got really hacked off at me when she thought I wasn't explaining chapter two in our Arithmancy textbook clearly enough.

Obviously, this had been a dreadful idea and going to be absolutely no help whatsoever to any of the parties involved; namely me.

Half of my dorm-mates were already in bed (excluding Lily, of course—she'd not slept in our dorm since The Incident outside Dumbledore's office and I was quite enjoying the newly red-head-free zone) and so I took care to be quiet as I undressed and got into my pyjamas, then brushed my hair quickly before climbing into bed.

Except there was someone already in it.

"The hell—!"

"Just shut up and get in!" Sirius' voice hissed.

I seriously considered making a big fuss about it and getting him into loads of trouble (I was just in one of those moods, the kind where you want everybody else to suffer just because you are), but in the end I did as he said and silently climbed into bed beside him, letting the curtain fall into place.

"Did you do a Silencing Ch—oohm_phm_!"

He was kissing me! Just like that! What if I'd been sucking on a sweet? I could have choked to death. I practically was, with the sudden jolt of both shock and delicious heat that speared through me, causing me to forget momentarily to breathe.

But then suddenly, with everything that had been going on these past couple of days, all the stress and the arguing and the ill feelings, him kissing me just felt… really bloody amazing.

So I did what any sane, red-blooded girl would have done. I locked my arms around him, and gave it back as good as I got.

He pulled away some minutes later, his breath coming a bit short, and nipped my lower lip.

"Hi," he said, quietly, and I could hear the smug smile in his voice.

For some completely insane reason, I suddenly found myself on the verge of tears. This was becoming ridiculous. I wasn't used to this much emotion and was feeling quite ready to just break down altogether.

I couldn't quite choke back a sob, though I tried.

"Well, hell, Spencer, you aren't supposed to cry! Do you always turn on the waterworks when someone snogs you?" Sirius demanded, sounding a bit panicked, touching my face and my hair as if to see whether he'd somehow hurt me.

I just sobbed again and turned my face into his chest—which was bare, I found—and hooked my leg with his in order to shift myself closer to him, needing the comfort.

He cursed softly, then rolled over onto his back, taking me with him, so that I was sprawled over his chest. He draped an arm over the small of my back and stroked my hair gently, murmuring nonsense under his breath until I'd calmed down enough to speak.

Then I told him. Everything; from Dumbledore making me get a tutor, and how inferior I felt all of the sudden; to Lily's and my rowing; and then Andrew's dumping me. Sirius was silent all throughout, save for the occasional murmur to show that he was listening.

When I'd at last finished and was sniffling quietly, my lightly pounding head resting on his chest, my stinging eyes shut from the exhaustion of weeping, he didn't say anything for a moment, merely sifted his fingers through my hair, gently tracing the curve of my skull and neck and jaw with his fingertips.

I shivered.

Then he said, "I'm really crap at this whole comforting thing…"

I had to laugh. "Right," I said, sniffling again and smiling as I raised my head to look down at him, in spite of the solid darkness. "Complete crap. You've just made it worse, in fact."

He pulled my head down to snog me again, and I felt him grinning against my lips. Then he made a noise deep in his throat, and the kiss changed, both the angle and the taste; and a slow, seeping heat started working its way up from somewhere in my middle.

A split second later, I found myself on my back again; a wand was lit a foot away from my head, and Sirius was studying me from above, a grave expression on his face.

I opened my mouth to say something—though I hadn't a single lucid thought in my head at the moment—but he tapped me lightly on the nose, and shook his head, as if to get across just how important his next words were going to be.

"I've only seen you cry twice my whole life," he began, his tone matching his expression. "Once when you were twelve and your cat died. You bawled for a week, it was sickening. And then again, when Moony got away from Madam Pomfrey one full moon, before she could get him to the Whomping Willow, and you were positive he was going to get himself killed when he ran off into the Forbidden Forest. Both times it ripped me up inside, Tia, and now is no exception—mostly because you always look like hell after you cry.

"But I want you to know that I think you're one of the cleverest witches I know, regardless of the complete lack of effort you put into your schoolwork, and Emily Brown was only trying to set me up with her sister, who, incidentally, is a hag."

I blinked, slightly overwhelmed by this little speech.

"Erm…" I cleared my throat, as my voice was still a bit thick from tears. "Okay."

Somehow—Merlin, I _had_ to stop spending so much time with these people!—what he'd said comforted me a great deal more than a hundred, "Don't worry about its" or "It'll be all rights" would have done.

He kissed me a third time, gently and stirringly, and I gasped into his mouth as his hand trailed up the underside of my bare thigh (I wore old sweat-pant cut-offs—not very sexy, but I hadn't been expecting him to be in my bed waiting for me, never mind for him to jump me as soon as I got there) causing gooseflesh to rise all up my legs and torso. His fingers slipped just under the hem of my shirt, trailing fire along the sensitive skin below my navel, and I moaned, breathlessly, fisting my hands in his hair.

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead on mine as we both fought to catch our breath. He lifted his other hand to cup the side of my face before he dipped his head to kiss my nose, eyes, and finally my lips in quick succession, then rolled off me and out of bed.

"I've got to go," he said in a low voice, reached over my bewildered, flushed face for his wand. "_Nox_. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I just nodded, incapable of coherent speech, and watched his silhouette in the sudden darkness duck out from between the bed-curtains.

A second later, he was back, poking his head through the part in the hangings. "I nearly forgot," he whispered. "No time for you to ask a question so I'll just tell you, since you told me a lot tonight as well: my mother is completely without a single marble to speak of and we detest each other because I don't share her notions of blatant bigotry against Muggleborns, and so she decided to disown me out of spite. She'd hate your ever-loving guts. Night, Spencer."

And then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: This is Me Sighing **

I arrived late in Charms the next morning, as I'd overslept—right through my first-period Ancient Runes lesson, and break as well—only waking when James, having missed me at breakfast and wondering where I'd gotten to, flew his broom up to my window during break and banged on it 'til I heard him.

I managed the fastest shower of my life, pulled on my robes haphazardly, then snatched my book-bag from where it rested on the trunk at the foot of my bed and raced to class.

Panting, I pushed open the door to the Charms classroom and went in. After a mildly reproachful look from Flitwick, I made my way to my usual seat, face burning from exertion and embarrassment, and he went on with his explanation of Protean Charms.

"You look like a sweaty tomato," James informed me in a whisper as I slid into the seat next to his.

I shot him a look.

"A brassed off sweaty tomato," he expanded matter-of-factly, and Peter snorted into his hand, small blue eyes glittering with mirth.

Remus and I both glared at them, and it must have been quite frightening, because James actually recoiled a bit.

Sirius, however, was uncharacteristically silent. In fact, he was staring down at his open textbook with a dark, brooding expression and seemed determined not to look at me. He didn't so much as blink at my arrival, and if I wasn't much mistaken, it seemed as though he was purposely avoiding my eye.

Oh no. This was just not on. He wasn't getting away with sulking at me when everything was entirely _his fault_. 

I'd overslept because of him, of course. How was I expected to get any rest after that little night-time encounter? More confusing yet were his attempts to comfort me, which had—amazingly enough—worked. Finally dropping off at around four in the morning, it was only natural that I should sleep right through my alarm and several school bells.

It didn't come as much of a surprise, either, that none of my dorm-mates had tried to wake me. As Sirius had so helpfully pointed out with the Happy Fairy episode, I wasn't very pleasant company as of late, and telling from my dorm-mates' renewed aversion to coming near me, I was obviously scaring people a bit.

Still, I wasn't about to let him get all funny and awkward after last night. I knew he didn't want to make any mistakes and ruin our friendship—no more than I did—but _he_ had kissed _me_, and so Sirius would have to suffer the consequences.

With half an ear tuned to what Professor Flitwick was saying about some bloke named Badir Something-or-other who'd accidentally set fire to his socks after attempting to link them, colour-wise, with the necktie he planned to wear each day (another sad case of explosively clashing accessories—ha!), I dug into my bag for a spare piece of parchment and a quill, and hastily scribbled a note.

"_To: Sirius Black, He of the Flea-Bitten Arse_

"From: Tia Spencer, She of the Sweaty Tomato Face

"Miss Spencer wishes to inform you that you had better not start acting like a prat, because such behaviour will result in an immediate encore performance of the infamous Arseless-Trousers Fiasco of '74. You have been warned."

I folded this neatly, then, with a glance at Flitwick—still squeaking away excitedly about that Badir madman—, tossed it lightly over James' head and directly onto Sirius' textbook.

His head jerked up and around, an expression of surprised irritation on his face. I fixed mine into one of obliviousness—which wasn't that difficult, considering my lack of sleep and shortness of breath. He scowled, hesitated, then unfolded the note to read. I watched out of the corner of my eye as his countenance gradually lightened and I thought I may have seen the ghost of a smile on his lips before he bent his head to write back.

A minute or two later, the parchment landed back in my lap, his response written below my earlier missive.

"**_To: Tia Spencer, She of the Attractively Flushed and Glowing Visage_**

"From: Sirius Black, He of the Attractively Flushed and Glowing and not flea-bitten Arse.

"Just so it's clear, the fleas are Padfoot's problem. I am without pestilence of any kind. Bit lonely, actually, but you learn to live without the little buggers.

"Further to your warning, Mr. Black wishes to inform you that he is not acting like a prat in any way, shape or form. Certainly, he is as un-pratlike as is possible to be; so far from Pratville, in fact, he is on his way to Cooltown.

"Thank you and goodnight."

My brows rose as I fought to hide my amusement, but I'd already begun formulating a reply; Remus—who was on my left—leaned over my shoulder to see what I was doing.

"_You're welcome and good morning. Sirius, why in hell is your arse glowing? You haven't used any funny potions on it, have you? Has James, for that matter?_

"But I digress. Yes, you are acting the prat because a) You used the phrase "on my way to Cooltown" and b) you denied your pratlike activities no less than three times, indicating both guilt and a desperate and dire need for a lesson in argumentative writing (this last is Remus' input, of course—he says also that he found you a flea-repelling potion three weeks ago, why haven't you used it, and perhaps the many flea-bites account for your rosy posterior?)

"Hit James for me.

"—TS."

I continued to keep an eye on Sirius as he read the note I'd just sent back to him, and I was quite pleased to see the corner of his mouth turn up, before he broke out into a full-blown grin. He hurriedly scribbled a response, slid across to me the parchment, then pulled back a fist.

"Ow! Bugger, that _hurt_!" cried James in outrage, rubbing his arm and glaring at Sirius who merely gazed up at the ceiling innocently when Flitwick looked round in alarm.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Potter?" he inquired, his squeaking voice full of concern.

"No, nothing, sir," James bit out, shooting a last glare at Sirius. "Bug must've bit me."

I ignored them, feeling satisfactorily avenged for my cousin's less-than-polite greeting earlier, and waited for Flitwick to return to the lesson before unfolding the parchment in my lap.

"**_Tell Moony that I, er… 'donated' his foul-smelling potion to a needier cause—namely Snivellus, whose now-pleasing (comparatively) odour can be sniffed and enjoyed by all. Moreover, he is relatively flea-free, so at least we know it works, eh?_**

"This is me sighing. Do you hear it? It is the sigh of the woebegone, of the hopeless. Because you're on to me; that much is clear. Alas, I admit it, I am the King of Prats, and you shall all cower and grovel before me.

"Except you. You've soft lips, you may sit in my lap.

"I didn't sleep last night.

"—SB."

I ran my tongue along my teeth, thoroughly intrigued by this last admission. His handwriting had become hasty and careless, so that the ink was blotched slightly—as though he'd wanted to get it out as quickly as possible, to avoid loss of nerve.

My own reply was quite short, on a smaller, fresh bit of parchment.

"_Me neither. Am considering lap-sitting offer. Yes, I'm on to you, which makes me wonder just how mad I have to be to understand a word that comes out of your mouth. Mr Moony has been informed, has gone properly purple in the face, and will most likely be sabotaging your next potion so that it turns your hair perpetually greasy. Oh yes, greasy forevermore. Stop sighing._

"—T."

Mere moments later, I had a response, even more splotchy than before. 

"**_He wouldn't. My hair is far more precious than a (very un-) wasted potion. Surely he will show me mercy? (And do be an angel and tell him Padfoot would like a new batch made up chop-chop.)_**

"You aren't a nutter—merely open to new and exciting ideas, like me. Is it our fault we are boisterously flamboyant and possibly ahead of our time? I think not.

"My lap is open to your bum anytime it fancies a sit. It is also, I feel you should know, off-limits to any other bums, no matter how weary and in need of a strapping, young, ridiculously handsome resting place it may be.

"—S & P."

I snorted, leaned surreptitiously over to Remus when Flitwick's back was turned, and whispered in his ear. He flushed a bit again, brows beetling, and whispered back. I grinned, then wrote my response. 

"_My bum's not particularly weary, thanks, but hardly averse to a place to sit (ridiculous handsomeness aside.) According to Remus, he "most certainly would," but because it's he that has to deal with you on full moon, he'll make you a working potion—although, he is adamant, not until then, and so you shall have to either resist bringing Padfoot round or else put up with the fleas._

"Speaking of bringing Padfoot round…why don't you ask him if he's up for a visit to the girl's dorm tonight and I'll see if I can't promise him a good scratch between the ears?

"—Boisterously Flamboyant (apparently) and Possibly Barking."

Sirius looked up after reading this note and his deep-grey eyes met mine down the length of the table. He didn't smile, but he didn't do much of anything else, either. I cocked a brow questioningly, and he studied me a moment too long, a tad too intensely, so that I suddenly felt my face grow hot again—before he ducked his head to write his reply.

A second later, I was looking down at the single word on the now messily ink-spattered parchment, feeling a grin tug at my lips even as my stomach twisted hotly:

"**_Woof._**" 

Friday night's tutoring session was going no better than Wednesday's had (I realized much too late I probably should have paid better attention in class the day before), but I was in a distinctly better mood, as the only things bothering me at the moment were the injustice of it all, and Lily Evans' incredibly annoying habit of bouncing her knee when she was concentrating.

Honestly. Her shoes even squeaked just a little, so that all I was able to hear or focus on as I was attempting to successfully perform yesterday's Protean Charm, was a faint _squick, squick, squick!_ as her leg bounced restlessly.

I gritted my teeth and tried again, swishing my wand as she'd shown me.

"_Sertus_!" I muttered, but the pair of chessmen I was attempting to link just stared up at me, unmarked and unchanged, expressions of poorly-suppressed amusement on their tiny carved faces.

Aubrey was immersed in the Ancient Runes textbook Lily had loaned her, eyes whipping back and forth fiendishly, teeth set in her lower lip, while Lily had her head bent over the set of Arithmancy problems I had given her to work out, for the purpose of discerning exactly what she could and couldn't do. She'd grumbled about it, saying that I was just doing this to rub it in how badly she did in the subject (which, of course, was absolutely untrue… though she _was_ crap at it); that was until she saw how hopeless I was at the Protean Charm, and that seemed to cheer her up a bit.

Lovely. Cheery Evans. What was the world coming to?

"Bugger," I said, for the tenth time, glowering in frustration. "I don't get what I'm doing wrong!"

Lily didn't glance up, clearly having her own issues with solving my Arithmancy problems, as she was furiously scratching out her last—and obviously wrong—answer, saying snappishly, "Are you doing the proper wand movement?"

"Yes!"

"And the incantation?"

"You didn't hear me? I've only said it about forty-thousand times!"

The tip of her nose went red; something I knew through years of experience with James meant she was on the verge of one of her notoriously long-winded blow-ups.

Banking down on my own extreme irritation, I said carefully, "_Sertus_."

"Well, that's fine," Lily said, almost grudgingly. "Your wand movement?"

I showed her, careful to do it the way she'd shown me at the beginning of the session.

"Hmm… perhaps a little wider arm sweep, and less of a flick of the wrist," she suggested curtly, then returned to her Arithmancy.

I mimicked her silently, pulling a face, then stuck out my tongue at the top of her head, before following her instructions. "_Sertus_!"

One of the chess pieces rattled a bit against the surface of the table where we sat at the back of the library. It was an improvement, anyway, even if all it did was move a little.

I glanced up and noticed Aubrey watching me over the top of her book. She turned a bright pink and looked down immediately, as though she thought I might make a face at her too.

Feeling for some reason suddenly, irrationally guilty, I cleared my throat and continued practising, trying to ignore Lily's squicking, and the extreme frustration I felt in my gut.

As I made my way up the stairs to the girls' dormitory later that night (the session had been allowed to go on an hour longer than was planned; though this hardly made a difference in our success) I was dead on my feet.

I hadn't had a proper sleep in far too long, and after "Padfoot's" visit the night previous, I felt very sympathetic to zombies and college students alike. Not to say that it hadn't been worth it, or fun—we hadn't done much talking, but our time had been put to excellent use anyway.

Wondering whether Sirius would be waiting for me again—and, for once, mildly hoping that he wasn't, so I could just sleep—I went inside the dorm, thinking that I might have to kick him out and wondering if he would make too much of a fuss about it.

Checking to make certain that my dorm mates were asleep, I parted my bed-curtains and lit my wand-tip to see inside.

He wasn't there, but lying on my pillow, curiously enough, were a book and an envelope.

Interested, I picked both up, crawling onto my bed and casting the light of my wand over the worn cover of the book.

"_Charm Casting Made Easy_," the spiralling gold title read.

My brow rose and I ripped open the envelope, on which was written my name in familiar hand-writing.

"**_Dear Snog Queen,_**

"I asked Moony if he had any books on remedial Charmwork—said I fancied a bit of NEWT review—and he nipped right off to the library and fetched me this. He was rather pleased and suspicious at the same time—as only Moony can be. I think he'd been under the impression that I wasn't even aware what NEWTs are.

"I think this because it is what he told me.

"Anyway, I hope this helps. Evans is pretty handy with a wand, she knows her Charms; you're in good hands, I think. Oh yeah, and I covered for you in the common room tonight—if anyone asks, you were in detention with Professor Banks for missing Runes yesterday. Or, you know, you could just tell them the truth.

"Don't sleep too late tomorrow. We need to go over our plans for a certain greasy-haired Slytherin git and your dreadfully important role as decoy.

"—S.

"P.S. Thought has just occurred to me. If Miss Spencer has now agreed to sit in Mr Black's lap for an indefinite amount of time, does that mark his promotion from lowly Footstool to most humble Armchair? If so, Mr Black would very much like to know the less metaphorical meanings of what in the hell we are talking about.

"xoxo."

I stared bemusedly down at the book in my lap, then the letter (and where did he get off saying Evans was "handy with a wand," anyway?), then back again, until finally, it clicked.

Sirius was trying to help me. He'd gone out of his way, had made an effort and was attempting not only to make me feel better about the whole tutoring situation, but to also make it easier on me by helping me along. 

Sweet Jesus. He _did_ know what simple kindness was. And here I had been, ready to buy him the definitive works, just to attempt to penetrate the idea into his thick skull.

I'd make a good man out of him yet, by God.

"I would just like to make it known that I have absolutely zero intention of going along with your ludicrous, childish prank and am fully prepared to go to any lengths in order to avoid involvement in whatever you have planned. I'll scream, I swear I will."

There. That should set them straight.

And I _would_ have said that to James and Sirius, if they hadn't completely steamrollered me the second I sat down at the breakfast table the next morning, refusing to let me get a word in edgewise.

Not that they'd have listened to me if they had, as was made clear soon enough.

"Here's the deal," James began, as per usual. "You're not so much a decoy in this particular masterpiece of a joke—one of many—as you are an important catalyst in getting it underway."

How poetic. I could feel a tear coming to my eye. (Though that may have been because Peter, while reaching for the bowl of treacle, had just shifted the hot carafe of coffee and put it into direct contact with the back of my hand.)

Ignoring my wounded yelp and the string of curses that ensued, Sirius took my hand across the table and neatly dunked it into Remus' bowl of cold cereal (which admittedly felt quite good, though a bit odd, and also not very hygienic.)

"It's like Prongs says," he said, ignoring also Remus' outraged protest. "This time, you're absolutely necessary to the plan. Without you, there's no point in even bothering with this one."

"In that case, there's something you should know—" I began, but James stuffed the remainder of his carrot muffin into my open mouth, silencing me quite effectively.

"Now," he went on, "there are three parts to this truly magnificent ploy, none of which will work without full cooperation from all involved parties—that means you, Cos."

I swallowed the muffin and dried my milk-soaked hand on a napkin; my eyes narrowing as I studied him shrewdly for a long moment. Even Remus leaned forward a bit anxiously, to hear what my response would be.

"If," I said, at length, "I agree to help you—_if_, mind—what exactly would I be expected to do?"

"Can't tell you that," Sirius said promptly, with a brief shake of his dark head. "Not until we have your promise of participation. We can't risk you running off to Dumbledore or someone with our secrets, not 'til you're involved yourself."

My mouth fell open—I swatted away James' hand, which was attempting to insert a bit of toast this time—and exclaimed, "Excuse me? I'm your girly mate, you berk! I'm not about to get you expelled, even if I don't agree with some of the shit you get up to!"

"Maybe," James said, eyeing me as though I was a mere acquaintance, one he had yet to decide whether he trusted or not. "Dunno if you're up for it, though. What d'you think, Padfoot?"

"Dunno," Sirius agreed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Could be that she may not be able to keep up."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," I burst out, rolling my eyes. "I've known you my whole life, James, and you for seven years, Sirius; when have I ever been left behind?" I shook my head suddenly, realizing just in time what they were trying to do. "But that's entirely irrelevant, because you're both being idiots and I refuse to take part in this ridiculous farce."

Instead of becoming outraged or getting down on his knees and begging (which I didn't really much expect to happen, anyway, but it still would have been nice), however, Sirius merely fixed me with an inscrutable grey stare, scratching his chin now. He'd not shaved, I noticed vaguely.

"What if we were able to compensate you?" he inquired, after a moment of contemplation.

The gleam in his eye told me exactly what sort of compensation I'd get, and while I was hardly against any of what was clearly going through his mind, I didn't, at present, have any particular desire to get a week's worth of detentions, either.

"Even though she _should_ be doing it regardless of her own reward—we _are_ family, after all," James added, quite loudly and with an expression of great perturbation.

I ignored him and instead said to Sirius, "I _don't_ want to have anything to do with this, whether I get anything out of it or not. Why aren't you listening to me?"

"I _am_ listening," he retorted, looking highly offended. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be trying to change your mind, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't! Because then you'd have heard me say—again and _again_—I'm not getting caught up in another one of your stupid schemes, Sirius Black—yours, or my cousin's!" I stood up from the table, disrupting the jug of pumpkin juice so that some sloshed over the side into the platter of kippers. Peter yowled in horror.

"Tee, wait—"

"_No_, I said!"

I stormed off towards the doors exiting into the Entrance Hall, feeling unreasonably furious—it wasn't as if occurrences such as today's never happened, because they did; quite often, in fact. It just felt like one too many, and most definitely at the wrong time. Maybe it was that time of the month. Or maybe my friends were just being bigger gits than usual.

"Tia, hang on a minute, I never told you what your compensation would—oi, _hang on_! You'll strain something if you keep walking that fast!"

Nope. No more than usual.

I heard Sirius' clomping footsteps behind me, running with ease despite the heaviness of his combat boots, and I began walking even faster, breaking out into a jog when I felt his fingers brush my arm as he reached out to grab it.

"Bugger off," I snapped, swinging my bag more securely onto my shoulder. I experienced a kind of vindictive satisfaction when I felt it collide with something solid and heard him curse quite expressively.

"Fine!" he shouted, a bit hoarsely, as I quickly wended my way through the thickening crowd of students, his voice becoming more difficult to hear over their chatter as the distance between us grew wider. "Fine, don't do it! Don't help your bestest mate in the world! But you'd better come to the match, or I will be very, very upset with you, Miss Spencer!"

Quite a few of the girls giggled as he said this, tittering in delight amongst themselves, but I ignored everybody and dashed up the marble staircase, eager to be alone for a short while.

I needed desperately to relax, but I was much too restless to take a nap (horror of horrors!) or even cross-stitch for a bit, and so instead I ended up pacing the length of the empty dorm for the better part of an hour, watching as the slits of pale-gold sunlight on the floor gradually slanted and became longer and closer to the opposite wall.

It was good weather for a Quidditch match, I mused. Perhaps not for the players—the bright sun may prove to be a bit of a disadvantage—but for the onlookers sitting in the stands, it would be very pleasant indeed to bask in the sun's warmth while we watched them play.

Assuming I even went. I knew James and Sirius _would_, in fact, be quite brassed off if I missed their game, but I wasn't exactly in the best of moods just then, either.

I couldn't say precisely what it was that had me so agitated. Obviously, it was very annoying and also insulting to have all your vehement protests go basically ignored, but I somehow felt my reasons for currently wanting to throttle my cousin and best friend senseless went beyond that.

Unfortunately, I was also much too restless for my mind to settle on one particular train of thought for very long, and so I didn't dwell on it. Instead, I swore, loud and heartfelt, and threw open my trunk to find my Gryffindor paraphernalia in preparation for my role as spectator at the match.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Essence of Me**

Wrapped in Gryffindor scarf, gloves and hat—it was spitting rain and had yet to warm up much from Tuesday—, a crimson-and-gold rosette pinned to my lapel, I hurried down to the Quidditch pitch, eager to find a seat in the stands, so that I could get out of the open air and into the heat of hundreds of other bodies packed together (with the hope that most of my peers had bathed a reasonable amount of time ago, and that the wind would take care of the rest.)

Those who had still been in the Great Hall eating breakfast were just beginning to trickle out through the main doors and I managed to avoid the worst of the arctic, numbing wind by ducking into the crowd and letting the natural laws of physics take their course.

"Tia! Tia Spencer!"

I paused when I heard the breathless voice behind me, and turned in time to see Aubrey jogging towards me, wending through the closely clustered students, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming in white puffs. She was dressed similarly to myself, except she had had the foresight to wear trousers to the match, something I was currently wishing I'd done, as opposed to my skirt and none-too-thick stockings.

"Hi," I said, when she reached me. I was determined not to let her go on thinking I was a snob, no matter what mood I was in, and so I smiled and inquired, "Are you a fan of Quidditch, then?"

"Oh, no!" she said earnestly, then turned a brilliant shade of pink, her already large brown eyes widening in horror at what had just come out of her mouth. "I mean—it's all right, I've just never—I was curious and—well, Lily said… she said you usually come to the games if I wanted to see one," she finished, all in one breath.

I kept a perfectly straight face and merely asked, "Doesn't Lily usually watch the matches too?"

"Yes, I think so," she replied, as we started to walk again, down the sloping lawn towards the stadium. "She said she would go with me, but then… well, I don't know exactly what, but something came up. She had to go meet with Professor McGonagall." She looked up at me with an expression of dawning horror. "You don't think she's in trouble, do you?"

I smiled blandly. "We can only hope, Aubrey dear."

We eventually found Remus and Peter (more accurately, they found us, when Peter stood on his seat and started shouting and waving at us like a maniac) and the four of us got settled to watch the start of the match, the two boys graciously letting us have the middle seats (more accurately, they had no choice, when I elbowed my way through, dragging Aubrey behind me, and plonked the both of us firmly down between them.)

So, yes. Most gracious.

"I'm sorry about your hand," Peter said to me from my left.

"Oh," I exclaimed, in surprise. I'd forgotten about the mild burn on the back of my hand in all the, er… excitement. "S'all right, it doesn't really hurt anymore. Which reminds me—" I leant forward, turning the other way to talk across Aubrey to Remus, "—most aggrieved about your cereal, Remus." I grinned. "I imagine essence of Tia must have really put you off your breakfast."

He gave me a wary look. "Well, it's not as if I _ate_ it afterwards."

I laughed. "Trust me, mate, I'd have been scared if you had."

Peter nudged me with his elbow and gestured none-too-subtlely at Aubrey, who was looking round at the hundreds of students milling around us trying to find a seat, and down at the mud-and-grass pitch, many feet below, onto which any of the players from either team had yet to appear. Peter cleared his throat loudly and mouthed, "_Who's that?_"

"Oh!" I said again, this time apologetically due to my distinct lack of manners (my dear mummy hadn't failed completely when it came to instilling in her only daughter a sense of propriety—however come-and-go, and sometimes arbitrary, it could be.) "Right, sorry. Blokes, this is Aubrey van Houlton—Aubrey, this is Peter Pettigrew, and this—" I gestured across her lap "—is Remus Lupin."

Aubrey, with a sudden lustful gleam in her eye, smiled lasciviously, leapt onto an equally carnally influenced Remus, and both started eating each other's faces.

Well, no, they didn't really. But my impure nocturnal activities with Sirius had clearly tainted my formerly (ahem) innocent mind, as it seemed that it was now so far in the proverbial gutter, I was picturing my friends together.

Gettin' it awwwwhn.

Oh my God. Horrific mental image of bloke-on-bloke action, by way of Peter and James. _Feeding each other grapes_. My own cousin! Ohgodohgodohgod. Get out of my head—OUT!

I knocked the heels of both hands against my forehead in desperation, attempting to rid myself of such an upsetting notion, but only succeeded in alarming Aubrey, who stared at me in concern and asked if I was feeling ill.

"Completely nauseated," I groaned in reply, scrubbing at my—permanently scarred, I was sure—eyes with my fingertips. _Positively queasy. Decidedly unwell. Downright nasty._

Okay. Okay. Wrong choice of words.

"Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" asked Remus, getting into to it now too.

"I need to have my memory Obliviated," I responded, wincing as several of the choicer scenes of that disturbing little montage wiggled their way back into the forefront of my mind. I shook my head furiously, as if hoping to rattle the memories loose, and hopefully have them fall out of my ears and onto the ground, where I could then stomp them into dust, incinerate what was left, scatter the ashes to the four winds, and never, _never_ think of it again.

I'd pictured James _in the buff_. And for reasons completely unfathomable by my own pathetic mortal knowledge, he'd had Neil Whittaker's pasty-arse body. Neil Whittaker! I'd never even seen him naked!

Oh, in the name of all things pure and holy. I needed a distraction. _Right now._

Quite luckily, Ravenclaw's team chose that moment to fly out onto the pitch, and I gratefully and determinedly focused my attention on the thorough and somewhat vulgar verbal bashing Peter was giving Andrew McPherson—finding myself wholly unable to directly meet the former boy's eyes, having so evilly violated him in my head mere moments ago. I wondered if I'd ever be able to look at him the same way again.

And James… I couldn't even think about James right now. I was so terrified that he would just _know_. And he would, too; somehow, he would. He was just Like That.

"Tia—I understand the whole melodramatic thing, it's all in good fun, after all—but when you get that gleam in your eye, like you're being possessed by a twitchy little animal… well, let me just say, you're very creepy."

I cast an angry, half-desperate look at Remus. "Creepy? The movie 'Psycho' was creepy. This—me—isn't creepy. This is me freaking out and possibly going a tad hysterical from what you just made me _see_ in my _head_, all because you and Aubrey can't keep your hands off each other!"

Remus and Aubrey actually leapt away from one another like two leaping things, the former looking genuinely confused and also a bit scandalised; the latter looking absolutely mortified and quite pink.

Peter said, unhelpfully, "What are you talking about? You never saw 'Psycho'—you said you were too buggered by Sirius making that shower-scene noise every time you said you were going to take a bath, you couldn't watch it."

I glared at him, as if to say, "Not the point, Peter."

He continued to stare at me in innocent bemusement.

At that moment, I felt a sort of breeze on my face and the scant inch of exposed skin on my neck, which wouldn't have bothered me as there was fucking _wind_ everywhere, except that it was oddly warm and smelled faintly of peppermint and leather.

I noticed Peter's abruptly astounded expression as he gazed, gape-jawed, at something over my shoulder and my head swung round.

Sirius floated mid-air about two feet away from me, up above myself and the rest of us sitting in the stands, so as to avoid kicking those in the seats in front of me in the heads, in full scarlet Quidditch regalia, and leaning forward with negligent elegance on the upper portion of his sleek broom-handle. His own expression was one of grim determination.

This did not bode well.

Before I could even open my mouth to say anything—though I really had no idea what I would have said, given the chance—he held up a gloved hand, closed his eyes wincingly as if it pained him to even ponder his next words, and said, dramatically, "Alas, Mam'selle Spencer, I can see your vicious feelings towards me have not changed since thirty minutes ago. I had hoped that time would make you see reason, but…" He trailed off meaningfully, opening his eyes and resting his now-fisted hand against his chest in an all-suffering manner.

As if a bloody fucking half-hour was sufficient, to make me forget how completely insensitive he'd been! Honestly, you'd think he believed me to be reasonable or something.

Wanker.

I was about to open my mouth again, having a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to say to him now, but he cut across me a second time.

"'Tis a sad thing that a man can no longer be accepted unconditionally to his lady-love's hearth. Sadder still when it is her bedchamber."

My mouth dropped open. There were _at least_ seventy-eight people in the immediate vicinity who had heard him say that. And some of them were gaping at _me_, now.

_Wanker_!

He was already going full-speed ahead into his next little overdramatic speech.

"I have, then, a token for you to hold close and dear to your heart whilst I, noble gentleman that I am, go into battle to fight for your wronged honour. Will you, most gracious gentlewoman that you are, accept this symbol of my undying adoration?"

I could only stare. I honestly hadn't a single coherent thought going through my head at that moment, besides perhaps the steady mental chant of 'ohgodohgodohgodohgod…'

This was not turning out to be my day.

To my shock, I felt someone nudge me rather insistently in the ribs and I looked over dazedly to see Aubrey gesturing with surprising fervour to hold out my hand. Her eyes, large as ever, were oddly shiny.

I did hold out my hand, stupidly and without a word, and Sirius sent me a beaming smile, extracting something black-and-white from the collar of his Quidditch robes.

He stuffed this firmly into my outstretched hand, hovered dangerously low on his broomstick so that the hems of his robes flapped into the faces of the girl and bloke sitting in front of me, and dropped a kiss on my hat-covered head.

Then he shot straight up in the air, whirled round, and took off for the center of the pitch where both Ravenclaw's and Gryffindor's teams had now congregated.

I stared after him, looking quite gormless I was sure, with my mouth hanging halfway open and my eyes nearly as wide as Aubrey's.

"Well, what is it?" Peter hissed curiously, nudging me also.

I looked down at the small bundle of what felt like silk and something about the bunched up material in my fist struck a familiar chord in my mind. I opened my fingers and let it spill out onto my lap.

Aubrey let out a scandalised gasp.

The little black patches over a background of white silk were tiny paw-prints. And the "token" itself was what I knew to be Sirius' treasured favourite pair of skivvies.

"He gave you his _boxers_?" Remus burst out, looking as though he was struggling to decide whether he wanted to start handing out detentions, or laugh his sexy arse off.

"He loves those boxers," Peter said weakly.

It was Remus' turn to send him a stern 'Not the point, Peter' look.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it—Mr. Locksley, Hogwarts' flying instructor, blew his whistle to signal the start of the match and we all turned to watch the game; me, with Sirius' boxers clutched possessively, if not bemusedly, in my lap. I wasn't sure what he meant by it, but I decided to take it for what it was worth—an olive branch of sorts, and a very odd gift, one that was nevertheless very thoughtful when you considered who the giver of the gift had been.

I didn't have much time to dwell on Sirius beyond his performance on the pitch, as Aubrey, a complete Quidditch novice, had to have the whole game explained to her as we watched. It was a full-time job, one I didn't particularly mind, as by the time we were an hour into the match and she had a decent grasp of the rules and basic outlines of the game, she was cheering and booing as loudly as the rest of us.

Myself, I got caught up in the Quidditch hype and hysteria as well, so that by that time I had not only shouted myself hoarse, but had completely forgotten my embarrassment and was standing on my seat and waving Sirius' boxers madly, like a kind of flag. James had just made a spectacular goal and was performing a celebratory loop-the-loop on his broomstick.

"I love you, Potter, and will proudly have your babies!" someone called gleefully in the midst of all the ruckus.

I suspected Sirius.

Ravenclaw was forty points behind Gryffindor, whose standing score was one-hundred-and-twenty, and it was easy to see that both teams' players were getting tired. Our Keeper, Alix Branstone, had missed a fairly easy save a moment ago, while their Beaters were lagging behind, rarely reaching either Bludger before Sirius or our other Beater, Trina Catheway (who, by the way, was a fucking _machine_!). I doubted the chilly, blustery, wet weather was helping much, either. The wind was being a real pain in our collective arse.

Play resumed almost immediately after James' goal and I plunked back down into my seat, pulling Aubrey back down with me.

I scooted forward when I saw the Quaffle get snatched up by Andrew McPherson himself, who started toward out end of the pitch, dodging Bludgers and other players, his fellow Chasers falling behind as he sped ahead towards Gryffindors goal hoops, on his own, to hog all the glory.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Shame on the snot-rag arsehole who wasn't a team player. There is no 'i' in 'team', Sonny Jim, and all that rot.

True to his word, however, James, with his own fellow Chasers flanking him closely (rah-rah Gryffindor and go team solidarity!) came flying up behind Andrew, manoeuvred so that they surrounded him scarcely three metres away from the hoops and—though none of us could actually see it in the resulting scuffle—James performed a tricky little (and not altogether allowed) move and a split second later, our Chaser Hamish Cheswick was bulleting toward the opposite end of the pitch, James and Sacha Magee not far behind. Andrew recovered a moment later and started after them.

An almost absurdly casual Bludger from Sirius took care of that.

I cheered extra loudly when Hamish put the Quaffle in for one-hundred-and-thirty points in favour of Gryffindor.

"This is so exciting!" screeched Aubrey, waving her arms and clapping enthusiastically.

Remus grinned down at her in evident amusement, caught my eye, and sent me a wink. I grinned back and went on cheering with the rest of them.

That was when it happened. Our Seeker, Anna Catheway (Trina's younger sister, also a fucking _machine_!) abruptly went into a vertical dive, headed straight for the pitch sixty feet below, and Ravenclaw's Seeker, Higgins, followed immediately; in a race to the Snitch that nobody else had seen yet.

The stands went oddly quiet, as if holding their breath; even the other players had stopped to watch the death-defying dive. I clutched Peter's hand with my left, the boxers held firmly to my chest with my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aubrey gripping Remus' arm tightly and leaning so far forward it looked as if she might fall over.

Anna and Higgins were a mere thirty feet from the ground, the latter about six inches behind the former. Now twenty… ten…

There was a collective gasp as Anna did a funny, lightning-quick sort of spin mid-air, then sped off towards the sky, her hand held triumphantly in the air, a huge, beaming grin on her face—while Higgins failed to stop in time and ploughed broomstick first into the pitch.

Mr. Locksley's whistle blew, several professor hurried onto the pitch to aid the felled Seeker, and the Gryffindor stands erupted into a deafening, chest-rumbling roar of joyous celebration.

Screaming at the top of my lungs in shocked delight, I grabbed Aubrey by the shoulders and we both started jumping up and down in shrieking happiness. Then we let go, stared at each other in awe, before shrieking again and turning away to more shared merriment.

This time she really did jump on Remus, who let out a barking laugh of surprise but caught her before she fell down (she then proceeded to look horrified with herself and turn an extraordinary shade of crimson) and I leapt forward to hug a total stranger in the row of seats ahead of me—and he hugged me right back, lifting me over the seats and setting me on his shoulders.

I was promptly carried off onto the pitch by him and his still-cheering mates, who broke out into a bawdy Irish drinking song and bounced me along like nobody's business. I joined right in, singing off-key and waving Sirius' boxers above my head in gleeful victory.

"_Where are your legs that used to run, hurroh, hurroh, _

_Where are your legs that used to run, hurroh, hurroh,_

_Where are your legs that used to run,_

_When you went for to carry a gun,_

_Indeed your dancing days are done,_

_Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye!_"

My entourage and I reached the Quidditch changing rooms on the Gryffindor side at the same time that the team landed there, all flushed and sweaty and grinning uncontrollably.

We stopped singing long enough for them to deposit me on the ground, give me a sound slap on the arse, and an affectionate, "Thanks, darlin', it's been grand," before they swiftly scooped up Anna Catheway and carried her off to Gryffindor Tower for our usual celebratory post-match shindig, a herd of whooping and cheering Gryffindors following closely behind; a few more team members were also lifted up and carted off, James, Hamish and Alix included.

"_They're rollin' out the guns again, hurroh, hurroh…_"

Sirius freed himself from the gaggle of girls—and some blokes—praising him on a tip-top performance, and met me in front of the changing room door. He tossed a wry look after the rowdy crowd of singing boys who'd just bid me farewell, and quipped, "Made some friends, did you?"

"That was brilliant!" I exclaimed breathlessly, throwing my arms around him. "I'm sorry I shouted at you and promise to never do it again if you keep having such utterly _gorgeous_ matches!"

He laughed, squeezing me briefly, before pulling away slightly so as to get a better view of my face. He smelled of leather and sweat and rain, and also, puzzlingly enough, still of peppermint. But he was deliciously warm and after spending an hour in the stands bearing the wind and the wet, I was quite happy to stay wrapped in his arms like that.

"You're getting my boxers wet," he murmured after a moment.

I blinked, then looked stupidly down between us. And he laughed again.

"The ones you're holding in your hand—that were given to milady as a war token, remember?"

He reached behind his neck and pulled the now hopelessly sodden and wrinkled underwear from my fingers, then grinned down at me when he saw the state they were in.

"Held onto them pretty tight, did you?" he remarked, cocking a brow and still grinning.

I rolled my eyes and jabbed my fist into his ribs, taking a step back and muttering, "Oh, shut up." I snatched them out of his hand. "And I'm keeping these. They were a gift, weren't they?"

His face actually fell. In fact, he looked rather crestfallen. "But—it's tradition to give back the token when the brave knight returns from battle."

"Is it now?" I ran my fingers over the silk waistband and said, "You know I'm not one to follow tradition, my brave knight."

He looked panicked now. "It's _symbolic_, damnit! You have to give them back!"

I threw back my head and laughed evilly, quite enjoying myself.

But then Sirius gripped my wrist and said, in an odd tone of voice, "Er… that cute brunette bird you were sitting with… is she a mate of yours?"

"Aubrey?" I said in surprise, noticing he was no longer looking at me, but at something over my head. "I guess she is, for all that. Why?"

"Because she's, er… _conversing_ with Snivellus and they don't seem to be getting on too well."

I spun around—I felt Sirius pluck his boxer-shorts from my lax grip and stuff them into his pocket—and my stomach turned to hot lead at what I saw.

Snape stood near the entrance to the pitch, his face contorted in fury, his hand gripping Aubrey's upper arm hard enough to bruise her skin. He shook her angrily and shouted something at her that I couldn't hear over the din being made by the exiting crowd of Gryffindors. Aubrey was positively cowering away from him, not even trying to pull her arm from his grip or defend herself, and she looked near tears.

I sent a panicked glance around for Remus or Peter, but couldn't spot them anywhere. Nobody seemed to notice—or care—what was going on.

Cursing loudly, I steeled myself and ran towards them, shoving or weaving my way through the thick crowd of singing and carousing people.

"…_they never will take our sons again,_

_Johnny, I'm swearin' to ye…_"

I sustained a sharp elbow to the ribs and several trod-on toes, but made it to Aubrey' side in mostly one piece—just as Snape spat out, "…ever touch me again, filthy Mudblood scum!"

And threw her to the ground.

"You fucking prick!" I shouted, shoving him in fury. "You fucking spineless pathetic prick!"

His wand was out in a flash and he pointed it directly under my chin, sneering, "_Another_ dirty Mudblood who thinks she can lay a hand on me. I feel utterly contaminated."

I tried to slap his hand away, but he held his arm steady and it didn't budge. I realised I couldn't hit him, so I pulled out my other artillery instead.

"I'm a so-called half-blood like you, Snivellus! You're no better than me, than Aubrey—especially Aubrey! You should be thanking her on bended knee that she would even touch you at all—though I'm sure it was hardly on purpose. _She's_ the one at risk of being contaminated, you sodding hypocritical bastard!"

He narrowed his black, maliciously glittering eyes at me and said, so lowly I nearly didn't catch it, "I could crush you. Right here, I could make you feel pain like you've never imagined—"

"Then do it! Let's see if you've balls enough to do it! At least now you're not trying to fight a step up from you."

"You call that Mudblood rubbish a step up?" he hissed, pointing a yellowed finger—from cutting up all his potion ingredients, or else simple lack of hygiene—at Aubrey, who was still crouched on the ground, sobbing and gazing at him in terror.

I narrowed my own eyes. "You git, anything's a step up from you—you're the ground level. The lowest of the low. You make me sick just looking at you."

His features twisted and darkened with inhuman rage and he raised his wand to my face, opening his mouth to curse me—I had no time to draw my own wand—his words were already half-formed—

"Then I'll stop you looking! _Exocular_—"

"_Petrificus totalis_!"

A searing pain had started over my eyes, an itching, crawling pain starting from my pupils and spreading outwards and in—until abruptly it was gone.

Snape was laying front-first on the ground, rigid as a board, his dropped wand lying in the grass half a foot away.

Someone grabbed me from behind, holding me, hissing breathlessly in my ear, "Are you mad? You're fucking crazy! God—fucking God, you scared the shit out of me—couldn't get through—"

Though my heart was hammering in my chest, and my eyes still prickled with tears of pain, I freed myself from Sirius' arms and said shakily, "Shut up. Thanks. But shut up."

I bent to help Aubrey unsteadily to her feet. She was trembling so hard I wondered that she didn't just break into a thousand pieces, and tears were streaming freely down her mud-spattered face.

"Is she okay?" Sirius asked me, then tore his gaze away from my face and gently touched the back of his fingers to her cheek, bending his knees slightly in order to look her in the eyes. "You okay, love?"

She gulped wordlessly and shook her head quickly, her face deathly pale under the specks of mud, great fat tears leaking from impossibly wide brown eyes.

Completely at a loss, I glanced at Sirius helplessly, who merely smiled grimly and briefly, then pulled Aubrey against his chest, enveloping her small form in his arms. She clung to him immediately, her fingers curling into the back of his Quidditch robes and her thin shoulders shaking with choked, wracking sobs.

Honestly, you'd think Snape had raped her or something. But then, I had no idea what had happened, what he'd said to her before I got close enough to hear. I was fully aware of the sorts of names _his_ lot had for Muggleborns and supposed "blood traitors", what they thought of us—even what some of them actually did or tried to do to us. So for all I knew, she very well could feel violated in such an intimate, emotionally scarring way. And Aubrey was remarkably innocent and good-hearted for someone living in the world ours was rapidly becoming. I imagined it was shock more than actual personal hurt. I didn't know for certain.

But I did know one thing. The minute I found James, I was sooo in on whatever the hell it was they had planned for Snape. And, mercilessly and efficiently, he was so getting his arse kicked.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: And I Had a Sudden Craving for Powdered-Sugar Doughnuts **

I'd say this about James Potter—he was thorough. Very thorough. Didn't miss a trick, that one. It wasn't any wonder he and Sirius had thus far escaped expulsion so many bloody times.

And even if I wasn't entirely pleased with my own role in his master plan, I could appreciate the big picture and the eventual result, and I was perfectly glad to have a hand in this one. This time it was personal; this time it meant something bigger.

In my opinion, revenge was a dish best served as soon as fucking possible.

One thing was certain in my mind by the time I'd been sworn to secrecy and debriefed of the plan. This was that even if James got us arrested—or committed, for all that—Snape would get his comeuppance, and get it… er… thoroughly.

I was up in the seventh year boys' dorm, the door securely locked, surrounded by all four of its boarders.

As James and Sirius worked on transfiguring this and adjusting that, Remus sat on his trunk at the foot of his bed, fidgeting and fussing with his sleeve and looking decidedly remorseful.

"I feel terrible," he said, not for the first time tonight. "We lost her in all the activity, I didn't think anything of it…" He swallowed deeply and squirmed uncomfortably, ploughing his fingers through his hair—again. The sandy-brown strands were beginning to stand on end.

I looked up from Sirius' ministrations to my top—he'd flicked open a button or two with alarming expertise; "for the betterment of the plan", he said—and gave Remus a pained smile, because I was feeling quite a bit of guilt about Aubrey as well. But, as I'd told him many times already, it wasn't his fault—nobody could have predicted she'd run into Snape.

"I know, I left her behind too," I said, then gagged, gaping in surprise at my new, strange voice. "What the hell, James!"

It sounded like something out of a Muggle naughty film—all rich and husky and seductive.

He paused in transfiguring the gold-and-red trim on my stockings and tapped his chin thoughtfully, turning to Sirius for a silent consultation.

Sirius nodded in agreement, though no actual words had been exchanged. "You're right, it's too much." He pointed his wand at my throat, flicked his wrist, then said, "Right, try that."

"What did you even do?" I grabbed my throat, eyes widening. "Shi—eurgh—crap, this is weird!"

My voice had softened slightly, becoming less rich and haughtier. My words suddenly held a delicate, schooled cadence that was so disgustingly prim, I couldn't even swear properly.

But both boys ignored me, continuing the transformation, muttering spells under their breath, tugging and prodding here and there.

"Cheer up, Remus," I told him, squirming and trying not to giggle, as I was very ticklish. "We're making up for it now, aren't we? And Aubrey doesn't blame us, she's already told me so at least half a dozen times."

He nodded glumly. "Still. She wasn't accustomed to all the Quidditch excitement. I should have known she'd get swept away in it…"

I eyed my mate curiously. As far as I knew, Remus and Aubrey had been familiar with each other's acquaintance only the few hours since I'd introduced them. So why was he so overly concerned with her well-being, even if she _was_ a friend of mine?

Aubrey was with Lily in the girls' dorms now, the latter attempting to calm the former down, while apologising profusely for not going to the match with her. I resented Lily a bit for that (what, did she think I was completely incapable of taking care of people? All run-ins with Severus Snape aside, of course), but I chose not to voice it, as she had been almost agreeable to me when I brought Aubrey to her after getting in from the match, before going off to track down James.

Sirius straightened up, took my chin in his hand and began transfiguring my facial features, glancing now and again at a photograph that Peter held up next to my face. "This will be bloody great if everything goes according to plan, and I don't see why it shouldn't. Everything's nearly done—eyes nice and wide, love… there's a good lass."

He gently raised my eyelid with his thumb, then waved his wand and I felt an odd, sort of warm spreading sensation over my eyeball. He grinned in satisfaction, released my eyelid, and transfigured my other eye.

After several more productive minutes, even Remus had quit moping and was now goggling at me in amazement.

"The likeness is astonishing," he remarked, rising from the trunk to inspect me closer.

Peter, however, had seated himself back on the bed and was making a face as he stared at me. "It's sort of creepy, actually."

I stuck my tongue out at him, and Remus laughed.

"At least there's no doubting it's still her."

"Shut it, Lupin."

A moment later, James stepped back, surveying me with a critical eye. Sirius hovered a few inches away, looking anxious.

Abruptly James turned a bright, unexpected shade of red.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Well, everything's perfect, except…" He cleared his throat and gestured unhelpfully in my general direction, "…except, er…"

My brows rose. "Except what?"

James gestured vaguely again, still red as ever, his eyes fixed stubbornly on a bit of wall over my left shoulder. Yet again, Sirius seemed to know exactly what James was saying, even though he hadn't spoken a useful word.

But whatever in hell James was talking about didn't seem to please Sirius very much at all. In fact, he looked downright bothered.

"What?" he yelped and hurried forward to grasp me by the shoulders, almost protectively. He glared at James defensively. "You don't—it's not—I don't—_why_?" he burst out at last, his tone edging towards horror.

Was James trying to steal his paw-print boxers?

But then Remus' brows shot up and he said, "Oh. Oh, I see what you mean." He appeared to be staring at my chest, which was weird enough in and of itself, as Remus Lupin was doing the staring, and I had never met a more gentlemanly and respectful bloke than he. If he was going to gawp at someone, he at least had the consideration to do it subtlely, like behind a book or something.

"What? What? What's going on, I don't get it!" Peter exclaimed, hopping off the bed and jabbing Remus in the ribs.

_You and me both, Pete_, I thought inwardly, feeling a bit disgruntled.

Sirius let out something akin to an aggrieved howl and actually shoved me behind him, shielding me with his body.

"No! I will now allow you to tamper with the work of God! Blasphemy! Sacrilege! I'll fight you Potter, don't think I won't!"

James crossed his arms, looking stern all of the sudden. "Padfoot. Don't be an idiot. We'll put them right again, but you and I both know that Tee's a bit more… er… endowed than your cousin, and it's details like that which will muck the whole thing up. You do want to succeed, don't you?"

I was fairly certain I knew what they were rowing about now. I stepped out from behind Sirius and looked down at my breasts, pushing them upwards unabashedly.

"You have to admit, your cousin's tits are rather different from mine," I pointed out, still pushing and adjusting my breasts to attempt to make them smaller. I shook my head. "S'no good. Blokes notice these things, Sirius. They'll have to go."

"But…" Sirius, looking deflated, reached out a hand as if to give them a feel or two of his own, but then dropped it quickly when he caught my pointed look and James' loud, "Oi!"

He stepped close and leaned down to whisper in my ear, "I never even got to touch them properly." He sounded positively distraught.

I laughed out loud. "It'll be fine, I'll be back to normal as soon as Snape gets what's coming to him." I kissed his cheek, then faced James again.

"Well, go on then."

He had been looking at Sirius with an odd expression on his face, but shook himself and nodded, raising his wand. Flushing deeply, he then performed a complicated series of transfigurations.

My whole upper torso tingled pleasantly and I felt a sort of lightness all of the sudden, as if a cumbersome weight had been lifted. I hadn't realized my breasts were even that heavy, not until they were gone—well, smaller, anyway. I looked down at my now much smoother chest and grinned, saying, "D'you know, this feels pretty good, like a load off. I might just keep them this way."

Sirius let out a choking sound.

"Right," James said, at last. "You're done, I think. Time for the final opinion."

I went over to the mirror on the wall—and actually screamed a tiny bit at what I saw.

My height, feet and legs appeared to be the only things unchanged (she was a bit taller than me, but heeled shoes would take care of that.) My hair was down to the middle of my back, now, and pale blond. My eyes were an icy blue and almond-shaped, my lashes longer but thinner, my lips more pouty and more classically bowed. My Gryffindor uniform now boasted Slytherin silver-and-green, and I appeared much more slender with white, tapered fingers, ivory skin, and, of course my newly svelte upper-body.

Besides a few minor details that I knew a man would never notice (a freckle here and there, etc.) I was the spitting image of Narcissa Black. I could have easily been her twin.

Oh God. Oh eurrrgh. Hadn't I suffered through enough hideous mental images for one day?

"If I'd known you were going to mess about with something that absolutely did _not_ need messing about with, I'd never have pushed for this," Sirius announced darkly.

"Stop pouting," I ordered. "I'm flattered—I think—but this isn't the time for second thoughts. Now, are we doing this or aren't we?"

Sirius scowled. "This, from the girl who earlier announced she would rather eat her own foot than have anything to do with our plan."

I sniffed. "What's your point?"

Remus, James, and I stood in the second-floor corridor at the foot of the East Tower, where our informant (a well-paid fifth year) had assured us Narcissa would be at eight o'clock tonight, making up for a missed Astronomy test. According to the Marauder's Map, our informant was not wrong.

"Has Sirius got the password, yet? Or Peter, the camera?" I whispered, nudging James with my elbow as we huddled together under the Invisibility Cloak.

He glanced obligingly at the corner of the map that showed the corridor with the statue of the one-eyed witch, and shook his head. "They're not at the rendezvous point yet."

I nodded and shivered as a draft blew down through the stone tower into the hallway below, and stepped absently closer to Remus, who wrapped a light arm about my waist, also quite absently.

"Here she comes," he murmured, tapping the map where a dot labelled "_Narcissa Black_" had begun its descent of the tower stairs.

A few moments later, James was surreptitiously poking his wand out from between the folds of the Cloak, the tower door was opening, and Narcissa—blessedly alone—was stepping out.

I glanced down the hall to see if anyone was coming, then nodded to James when I saw no one. He waved his wand at a passing Narcissa and she promptly crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap of blond hair and moonbeam skin.

I tut-tutted, watching closely as James and Remus slipped out from under the Cloak, lifted her tall, slender form and carried her to a nearby tapestry, which hid one of many of the castle's secret passages. Mindful of Filch, I wasn't surprised to hear Remus cast a quiet Disillusionment Charm.

They came back out into the main hallway, covering themselves again quickly with the Cloak, and we hurried off to wait for the other two by the statue of the one-eyed witch.

At eight-forty-five, I stood in front of the expanse of wall that yet another informant (a fourth-year Slytherin girl who apparently fancied Sirius a great deal, and who was also our supplier of her common-room password) had attested to being the entrance to the Slytherin House dorms.

I went over my lines quickly one more time in my head, and decided I felt confident that I had them down to at least a lower-case 't'.

"_Adderstongue_," I whispered, not entirely sure why I was whispering.

The wall immediately slid open, though, and I cleared my throat before stepping inside.

Cor. Talk about a verdant obsession.

I kept on walking so that nobody got suspicious when I stood there and goggled, but my eyes were whipping back and forth, searching out Snape's greasy head.

"Cissy, darling, there you are. How was your test, then?"

I stepped slowly around a group of chairs by the nearest hearth, trying my best to look at home, starting to get a bit worried when I couldn't see Snape anywhere.

"Narcissa! Where are you going?"

Bugger it. What if he wasn't here? That would rather defeat the entire purpose of my being in here at all. Why hadn't James thought to check where Snape even was before throwing me into the lion's d—er, snake pit?

"Narcissa Black!"

Someone's hand closed around my elbow and I spun round, nearly dying of shock when I saw… _Sirius_?

"What are you _doing_ here?" I hissed, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed him.

His brows drew slowly together in bewilderment, and I noticed too late the subtle differences in his face, the way he held himself, the colour of his eyes—these were such a dark, deep grey, the shade was nearly black.

And I abruptly realised exactly who I was standing face-to-face with.

Regulus Black looked so much like his elder brother, it was alarming; and yet I imagined I'd have zero difficulty telling the two of them apart, were they to stand side-by-side. I had never spoken to Regulus before—Sirius had made it clear a long time ago he didn't want me to have anything to do with his younger brother and because I knew so little about the situation, I'd chosen to respect his wishes—and the most contact I'd ever had with him were the rare times he and Sirius acknowledged the other's existence long enough to insult and ridicule the cool indifference out of one another.

Fists, Sirius had always said, were much too personal.

I gaped dimly at Regulus for what seemed like ages, feeling irrationally terrified—what was so wrong with him to make his own brother hate him so much?—when finally he reached out, flicked me lightly on the end of the nose and said, "Are you in there? Or has Narcissa gone on holiday?"

I blinked. "Erm… hi."

He cocked a brow, but grinned—ohgodohgod, he looked so much like Sirius!—and replied, "Good to have you back with us on earth, Cissy. How did your test go?"

"Er… it was… fine."

"Glad to hear it. Come help us with our Charms homework, will you, we haven't got a clue without you," he said, gesturing to the small group of people sitting around the hearth I'd just passed. One girl looked worried, while a blond-haired boy just waggled his eyebrows at me.

"Charms?" I parroted, feeling very not smart.

"Well, yeah. It's your best subject, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing just now."

Oh, this was just too ironic. Also slightly surreal. And I had a sudden craving for powdered-sugar doughnuts.

"Are you all right?" the worried girl inquired. "You don't seem yourself, Cissy."

I pulled myself together then. I'd seen and heard enough about Narcissa Black's… "mannerisms" to realize I was completely blowing this.

I raised my nose, resting my hands lightly on my hips, and struck a pose. "Of course I'm all right. I was merely preoccupied with my test results. Where is Severus?"

Short and to the point. Not bad, darling.

Surprisingly, they seemed to know precisely who I was referring to. I'd been under the impression that Snape was an evil git with no friends; but, I supposed, birds of a feather, and so on.

Regulus, while lowering himself into a carved, green-velvet wingchair and picking back up his Charms textbook—urgh, how I had _loathed_ that thing when I'd been in fifth year—said absently, with a slight wrinkling of his nose, "Uhh… I think he said he was going to settle in for the night—you told me he's not been sleeping well these past few nights, right?"

I nodded in what I hoped was a sympathetic manner (even as I felt a sort of hot, vindictive pleasure to hear that Snape was suffering, entirely without our help—good of him to get the job done himself, I thought) and said, "Yes, I remember. But do you think he'd mind terribly if I spoke to him for a short while? It is rather important."

Regulus lifted a brow, regarding me with a look that said plainly, "Do I _have_ to?" but rose from his chair nevertheless and said, "Yeah, sure, I'll fetch him for you."

Relieved, I settled in his vacated wingchair when he disappeared behind what I assumed to be the door to the boys' dormitories, and gazed around at my "fellow" fifth years.

"So," I said, smiling around at them. "Gryffindor won at Quidditch, eh?"

"What is this about Narcissa? Are you sure you're quite all right?"

I sent a lustful glance at a housecoat-clad Snape—tried not to vomit on his slippers—and assured him breathily, "Oh… I'm perfect," then added pointedly, "…now."

He stared at me, but I took hold of his wrist—erlack, erlack!—and pulled him further down the third-floor corridor, saying, "We're nearly there, Severus. I really am sorry to be such a bother." I let my fingers slip higher under his sleeve, praying inwardly that he wasn't hiding anything disgusting—apart from his arm, I meant—up there.

"Not… er, not at all, Narcissa."

One staircase, far too many seductive glances and coy phrases, and a lightning-quick arse pinch (for which I'd never forgive myself) later, we had finally reached our destination.

"In here," I whispered, glancing clandestinely down either end of the corridor. "I made sure it was deserted, so that we wouldn't be… interrupted."

Snape looked at me like I'd lost a few marbles—_more than a few_, I felt like correcting him—but then I recalled some of his comments earlier today on the Quidditch pitch, the way he'd physically assaulted Aubrey and then called her that foul name…

This was for Aubrey, I reminded myself, whom he'd humiliated utterly—and for whom he would now get a taste of his own poison.

"Come on," I said, sliding my hand up to his shoulder—gripping rather harder than necessary, but he might just take that for badly suppressed passion—and pulling him inside the empty classroom.

I shut the door firmly behind me, leaning against it and giving him a look of deepest longing.

Some of my anger must have been shining through, or else James' suspicions were confirmed and Snape really did bat for the other side, because he took a wary step back when I slowly came forward, swinging my hips and running my tongue along my new, strange-feeling upper lip.

"You know I've always wanted you, Severus," I purred, in my borrowed voice. "Madly. All I could think about today, while watching Gryffindor triumph ridiculously over Ravenclaw, was getting you here, tonight. Alone. Like this."

His back hit the wall and, unable to back up any further, he began to slide along it carefully, headed for the door.

I reached him, blocking his path by placing my hands on his bony chest—o! shudder, o! cringe—and stepping close. Too close. My God, what was so bloody _difficult_ for this boy about understanding the concept of soap?

I resisted the urge to be sick all down his front and, with a sweet smile (which came off feeling rather psychotic), breathed, "You want me too, don't you, Severus?"

And quite abruptly, I found myself attached to Severus Snape's mouth, pushed up against the wall and trapped between it and his body.

Oh. Oh my God. Gross.

Well, best get on with it, then.

I broke the kiss, trying not to act like I really, really wanted to cut out my own tongue, my voice throaty from arousal—well, really it was from my own devastation at the knowledge that I'd never be clean again—and gasped, as planned, "Severus, we should use protection—"

His eyes widened, but he nodded, licking his lips—oh, if only he knew he was kissing a Mudblood, the slimy bigoted arse-wipe—and watched as I drew my wand from my stocking.

I sent a slow, ironic smile up at him, then said, with calm propriety, "_Stupefy_."

He went down like a stone, just as the real Narcissa had done, and I looked down with warm pride at the result of my perfectly executed Stunning Charm.

In your freckled face, Lily Evans.

The closet door at the back of the room swung open, revealing Peter and a perturbed-looking James, while a scant five feet away from where I stood, Sirius whipped the Invisibility Cloak off himself and Remus, his face a storm cloud of fury.

He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out—and thank God for small miracles—I sailed past, snatching up the Cloak, and announced breezily, "Well, I think that went well. I'll let you lot take it from here. Au revoir and good bye."

And then I went off to rub myself with salt and boil my clothes. In turpentine.

An hour later, as I was hiding up in the seventh year boys' dorm (having snuck up there under the cover of James' Cloak—I was still very much a Narcissa clone, after all), following a systematic oral decontamination involving James' mouthwash potion and Sirius' toothbrush—I'd buy him a new one, I swore I would—I waited rather anxiously for the return of the lads to see if everything had gone all right.

When the door did finally open, it was Sirius who stepped inside, and he was alone.

"Did it go okay? Were the others caught?" I demanded, leaping up from my perch on his bed, and letting the Cloak fall to the floor.

He jumped at my sudden appearance, then deflated with relief when he realized it was just me.

"Jesus, you gave me a start." He crossed the room and went to light his bedside lamp. "The others are fine, they're with Tom Ralston—the bloke who lent us the camera—getting the film developed. But I wanted to get you alone, anyway."

"What for?" I inquired, choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"To be the first to see you be you again, for one," he said, then waved his wand while muttering a complicated reversal spell, and I felt the warm tingling all over my body, eyeballs included.

"It'll take another incantation for your clothes, but—oh, thank Merlin, they're back!"

To my amused astonishment, he fell to his knees in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burrowing his face between my—_my_—breasts.

I giggled, reaching up to feel my hair and face—which were thankfully back to normal—then let my hand fall to the back of his head, dragging my fingernails slowly across his scalp.

He shivered and tilted his head back into my hand, gasping, "Do that again."

I obliged, and his eyes slid shut, his lips parting as I felt goose bumps rise on the sensitive flesh at the nape of his neck.

His arms around me tightened, while his head rested against my front again. I sighed, liking very much the feel of warmth and security his embrace gave me.

"I can't believe I helped you seduce _Snivellus_," said his muffled voice, as his fingers came up to trail the curve of my breast revealed by the pair of undone shirt buttons.

I laughed, even as my own eyes slid shut at the feel of his fingertips on my bare skin. They popped open, however, when I felt him begin to undo the rest of the buttons. With his teeth.

I slipped both hands into his long dark hair, fisting them lightly with a moan as my shirt fell open and his tongue flicked my bare nipple—bare, because I'd taken off my bra earlier, as Narcissa's slender form didn't quite fill it and it had seemed rather unnecessary.

"…can't believe I had to stand there and watch him snog you…" he went on, scraping his teeth gently over the hardened peak and causing me to slump slightly to the floor as my knees threatened to give out altogether at the hot rush of sensation that shot down the backs of my thighs. His arms were the only things holding me up. I'd had boys touch me there before, but never like this… and it had never _felt_ like this.

"You do what you have to." My voice was oddly breathy and low. I smiled, and went on teasingly, even as he took my nipple into his hot mouth and a gasp issued forth from between my lips, "Maybe I liked it."

He froze, and then abruptly the cold air rushed to meet my dampened skin as I stumbled back at the sudden loss of support.

"What're you—"

He'd gotten to his feet and gone over to the window, pushing open the glass pane and swinging a leg over the sill into the falling rain. The fresh smell of ozone seeped in, bringing a damp chill with it.

"The hell are you doing?" I demanded, gaping at this spectacle, unmindful of the fact that my shirt was still hanging wide open and, more important, that it was bloody freezing.

"Throwing myself out the window. I've no longer anything to live for. All my hopes and dreams crushed into meaningless dust…"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, do shut up." I grabbed him, yanking him back inside, and we both fell, laughing, onto the bed—Sirius hitting his head rather sharply on a bed post, but it was nevertheless very romantic.

"Tia?"

"Nnngh."

"Can I…?"

"Can you what?"

"Well… this."

"Unnh… oh… um, yes, all right."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Cleaning Supplies Are a Bit of a Mood Killer**

You know that feeling you get when you're hovering just between wakefulness and slumber, totally relaxed and calm but just conscious enough to be aware of how peaceful everything is—and suddenly your stomach drops like you've just tripped over the edge of a cliff?

Well, I had that.

I jerked abruptly, disoriented and flinging my arms as if to grasp onto anything to keep myself from falling—then almost immediately realized what had happened, sighed, and sunk back into the mattress in sleepy relief.

Unfortunately, Sirius had been sleeping sprawled over me with his head on my stomach when I'd suddenly awoken, and besides succeeding in startling ten years off his life, I also managed to soundly elbow him in the windpipe during my wild flailing.

"I'm sorry!" I moaned, reaching out to him as we both shot bolt- upright in bed. I fumbled for Sirius' wand, lighting it when I finally found it under his pillow, and peered into his strained face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Gack!" he choked in succinct reply. He heaved once, clutching his abused throat and turning steadily purple in the face, then gave a loud, gut-deep cough that sounded like a dying goose.

"Shit. Shit. Sirius, are you all right?" I demanded in panic, rising onto my knees and scrambling over the bed-sheets to straddle his thighs so I could feel for myself whether he was even breathing anymore. I dropped the wand, my shaking fingers racing over his jaw to check for a pulse. "Oh my God, oh _God_, I've killed you, haven't I?"

Blessedly, his throat chose that moment to open again, and he sucked in a rattling, wheezing breath, then cursed hoarsely. "Fucking _hell_!"

I slumped toward him in relief, hugging him tightly and sighing, "Oh thank God."

"The hell happened?" he croaked, reaching up with his free hand to grab my shoulder—more so he didn't topple over, I rather thought, than for assurance as to my well-being. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just had a spastic thing, I'm fine. Can you breathe properly, or do you have to go to the hospital wing?" I asked in concern.

He cursed again, but shook his head and dropped back onto the pillow, rolling over onto his side, his hand still wrapped gently around his throat, as if to guard it from me so I couldn't cause any more damage.

There was faith, for you.

I lay down beside him, pulling his hand away to press my lips gently to his bruised Adam's apple. "I'm sorry," I implored again. "I'll make you smoothies and gelatin and things if you can't eat proper food anymore."

He scowled at me, then burrowed his face into his pillow, rolling over onto his stomach sulkily.

"Oh, come on," I said with exasperated contrition. "It was an accident, and I already apologized. Stop being a baby."

His response was muffled and extremely rude.

I glared at the back of his head, my remorse dissolving with every second. Sadly, I was now wide-awake, and he seemed to have every intention of falling back asleep. If there was one thing I hated more than not getting enough sleep, it was people being able to sleep while I couldn't. I was touchy that way.

Without a word, I rose to my knees again, swinging one leg over him so that I straddled his sheet-shrouded thighs again, only this time with him lying face down. It was quite a comfortable place to sit, actually.

He tensed immediately, but didn't verbally acknowledge the fact, offensively or otherwise.

I dipped my head to the back of his neck, nipping gently and then soothing the bite with my tongue. I heard his breath hitch, but still he never moved an inch. Brushing aside his hair, more disheveled than usual, I blew lightly on the damp spot. He shivered, goose-flesh erupting all down the bare skin of his neck and back.

I continued these ministrations to the sides of his neck, behind his ears, and along his shoulder blades, the skin smoothly sloping from bone to muscle, while I let the hand I wasn't using for support slide down his leg, pulling down the bed-sheets and stroking teasingly up the smooth inside of his thigh.

His breathing thickened, and the hand that rested on the pillow next to his cheek curled into the pillowcase, clenching it tightly.

My hand moved higher, fingers still feather-light and teasing, until they reached his (rather lovely, I feel I should point out) arse, and slipped an inch or two forward. I leaned forward, my mouth brushing his ear, and whispered laughingly, "Forgive me yet?"

I felt like a femme fatale or some rubbish, just like in the cinema. Really though, my imagination was going to get me in trouble one day.

And I pressed down on the warm, sensitive skin there, causing him to cry out and arch back, gasping breathlessly.

"Oh fuck, Tia... unnh, yeah..." he groaned in a low, strangled tone when I began applying and taking away the pressure in a slow, steady rhythm, and I swear to God it was the sexiest sound I'd ever heard.

"Turn over," I ordered, my voice suddenly strained with need. My head was spinning already, and he hadn't even touched me. This was absolutely mad; _we_ were mad.

He obliged, flipping over onto his back with alarming speed, and reached up to grip the back of my neck, crashing his lips against my mouth, body pressing tightly against mine, eliciting another ripping, gasping groan from him.

Sirius rolled again so that I was underneath him, and I reflexively opened my legs to him, hooking an ankle over his arse and fisting my hands in all that dark, rumpled, sexy hair of his to keep his mouth on mine. I really hoped I didn't look as much like a starved lamprey as I felt.

From that point on it was a blur of sensation and lovely, aching flashes of—ohgodohgod, yes, more of _that_—heat, our breathing tattered, our hands shaking and desperately eager, our hearts hammering in our chests, plastered against each other; soft melding into hardness, curves fitting oddly perfectly with masculine lines. And I could have sworn I was going to explode.

Too breathless and cloudy-minded to speak, my ears too full of the roar of rushing, pounding blood to hear.

I didn't even realize what had happened until I experienced a feeling of blooming fullness, and it was all at once too much, too soon and too bloody good to think about anything else. We had stopped kissing, our mouths centimeters apart as we panted; my searing lungs trying to keep up with my heart, working triple-time (when had I fallen into such disreputable physical condition? I was going to have to start exercising more—if I didn't have a coronary before this was over, and I wasn't sure I'd have minded if I did); breathing in each other's broken breath as we moved together, and I was quite all right with that; with all of it.

God. God, was it always like this?

I wasn't a virgin, but I may as well have been, the way Sirius was making me feel, and all that he had taught me already; was teaching me even now. Hardly an innocent, I was finding myself nonetheless blown away by what I was capable of feeling—and by what I was finding myself wanting to do back to him.

The one time I'd let a boy get this far, I'd been barely sixteen, and it had been... boring, in a word. I had been desperately curious, impatient and feeling more than a little rebellious against my parents, by whom I was sick of being treated like a child (yeah, okay, the traditional clichéd motives—there _is_ a reason all teenage girls have a sort of connection, you know. And anyway, I was allowed to have my plebian moments once in awhile, wasn't I?) What had resulted was approximately four-and-a-half minutes of bewildering hands and mouth and not-quite-naked boy, and rather a lot of pain, and finally an eagerness for him to finish up already so I could go take a nap or do my Arithmancy homework (for which I could remember I'd received less-than-perfect marks because of him, breaking my concentration that way. Tosser.)

But already with the few things I'd done with Sirius in the past week, I'd felt ten times more than I'd ever done with Ewan "Look—no hands!" Flaherty. And now... and now...

Blimey O'Reilly's snakeskin trousers. Where had _that_ come from? Oh. _Oh_. G-spot. Hello, G-spot!

Sirius had begun to cry out, softly at first, his voice rising until he was now thrusting without rhythm and all but howling, his fingers scrabbling desperately for some kind of hand-hold as I could see he started to lose control.

I clumsily gripped his hands with my own, arching up to meet him stroke for stroke, the most bizarre noises coming from my mouth without my meaning them to. I would have been embarrassed, if I hadn't felt _so_—

And then it was like time stopped. I hung suspended above the chasm, body tight as a bow, as my eyes flew wide with shock to stare unblinking into Sirius' intense, burning grey gaze, my lips parted wordlessly—before everything shattered into a pulsing, devastating implosion of breath-stealing pleasure.

"Oh fuck, oh God—_Sirius_!"

I watched in a distant sort of bafflement as his fathomless eyes went opaque, then shuttered closed and, throwing back his head with a grace I had to marvel at, he screamed out my name in a volume to rival my own.

A moment later, he collapsed on top of me like oddly pleasant deadweight, not moving except for his heaving breaths which stirred our hair in forceful puffs (he needed to start jogging or something too, it seemed), mingling raven-black strands among caramel.

I felt boneless and glowing and replete, and decided I never wanted to move ever again. Too much effort. I was perfectly happy right where I was, and just as happy to stay there forever. Dead, obviously, from starvation, but happy. Dead happy.

What an unhealthy amount of times to use the word "happy."

And bloody hell, why was I still conscious? It seemed like such a silly thing, being awake.

Shut up now, brain.

"Fuck. Fuck, Tia. Sodding fuck," he panted, his voice ragged and raw in my ear. "So fucking good..."

Mmm. I stretched luxuriously under him, a ridiculous, beaming smile breaking out on my face. _My sentiments exactly. _

I heard the rest of the lads come in at around half-past one (it wasn't as if they were making much effort to be quiet.) Sirius and I had been sleeping—er... resting, anyway—and he poked his head out to inquire groggily after the progress of the photographs ("Stage Two of the operations is ready for action," James gravely announced, sounding a right berk, if you asked me) and to assure them I was perfectly fine and recovering nicely from my tragic case of excessive exposure to one of the beast family Snivellae (sadly nowhere near to being an extinct species).

They assumed I was safe and sound in my own bed (neither Sirius nor I chose to dispel them of this notion), patted themselves on the back for what they (and I, though silently) considered a job well-done, and went to their respective beds, sound asleep and snoring in a matter of minutes.

I decided it was a rather good time to leave, then, and once I was sure they were all deep in slumber, I dressed quickly and Sirius and I snuck down to the empty common room together (with considerable difficulty, as my legs were oddly unsteady and I nearly stumbled on the stairs twice, Sirius only just catching me both times.) We snogged at the bottom of the stairs to the girls' dorms and would have been in danger of a quick repeat of our upstairs activities, if a hapless house-elf hadn't come in at that exact moment, mop and bucket in hand.

Cleaning supplies are a bit of a mood killer, and anyway, I was fairly certain it hadn't been the house-elf (nor me) who'd uttered that girlish scream at the creature's sudden appearance. Sirius, actually blushing for the first time in years, hurried off pretty quickly after that—to go drown himself in a toilet, perhaps.

Breakfast the next morning was a properly grim event.

"Stage Two commences tonight at nine o'clock sharp," James began lowly, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner so that the rest of us had to do the same in order to hear what he was saying. "Moony and I have requested to take over prefect rounds for tonight, and so we will be able to keep the halls clear of any pesky stragglers. We'll have the Marauder's map to keep an eye on which hallways need to be emptied, and kept empty, at which times. In addition, we have our mirrors, so communication shouldn't be a problem."

I nodded seriously, and Sirius picked up where James had left off.

"That leaves myself, Wormtail and Spencer for the actual initiation of Stage Two. We'll take it in shifts. Two of us will be hidden under the Cloak at all times, one concealing and enlarging each of the photographs by hand, the other watching the mirror in case Prongs or Moony needs us to abort the mission. The third party will be venturing out into the open when it has been cleared, and fixing the concealed photographs onto the chosen locations, each allowing for optimum viewing angles and potential. Now—Moony—run that back to me."

Remus blinked. "Why do _I_ have to parrot everything you've just said? I'll be with James the whole time; only one of us has to remember all of it."

Sirius glared. "Is that how you see it, Moony? That a half-arsed job is all that's expected of you? What if something happens and Prongsie becomes MIA? Hmm? What then?"

I snorted into my tea, then accidentally breathed some of it up my nose and began to choke and gag in earnest, eyes watering at the pain of my scalded nasal-passages.

James and Sirius both turned their stern glares on me, quite brassed off that I'd ruined their dramatic atmosphere. Never mind that I was dying, or anything, never mind silly old Tia who couldn't breathe...

Remus pounded me on the back, still observing Sirius dubiously. "I don't honestly think that there's a possibility of that. James is Head Boy, he can get away with anything. Even if a teacher comes along, he can make up some excuse for us, and it doesn't even have to be a good one—his word is gold. That's how much influence he has. In fact, the only one who really _can_ do anything about his being where he isn't supposed to be, besides the Headmaster, of course, is—"

He broke off abruptly, and all five of our heads swiveled round to stare down the length of the table at Lily Evans. She looked up from her breakfast at that moment, and jumped in a comically startled manner to find all of our gazes fixed on her.

Sirius was grave as he leaned forward again, gesturing for us to do the same.

"Can we trust her?" he whispered, looking around at the rest of us for our opinions.

"Yes," James answered immediately.

"What!" I balked, staring at him in offended outrage. "You'll trust her right off, but your own blood has to agree to a Secrecy Charm before you'll tell me a thing?"

"You forget, James isn't panting at your heels in lustful devotion," Remus reminded me.

I shuddered at the wholly unnecessary mental image that little bit of expressive dialogue had rewarded me with.

"Tia's right, you know," Sirius pointed out, and I beamed at him in gratitude. "What proof is there that Lily is trustworthy? The fact you _are_ panting at her heels like a stupid puppy gives her even more reason to not want to have anything to do with us, considering she doesn't feel _quite_ the same way about you, mate." His tone was apologetic, and just a little bit ironic.

"Understatement of the century!" Peter exclaimed, concealing his words inexpertly in a hacking cough, which wasn't, you know, easy.

It wasn't very effective either. James threw him a scathing look and said, "Sod off, Pete." Then he faced Sirius again. "Whether we can trust Evans or not, something still has to be done about her so that there's no chance of her cottoning on to what we've got planned. We either tell her about everything and beg her not to go running to Dumbledore in a Head-Girly way, or else we'll need a distraction, or… someone to keep her busy."

It was my turn to jump like an utter dork when four pairs of eyes swung round to stare at me.

"What? Me?" I demanded incredulously. "What the hell could _I_ do?"

"It's perfect," Sirius breathed, a slightly manic gleam in his eye. "It's so mad, it is in fact genius. Just _think_ about it."

I had a feeling I really didn't want to know what "it" was.

James was regarding me consideringly. "You know, Paddlebrains, that just might work." Then to me he said, "You and Evans are quite close, aren't you? I saw the two of you hanging out in the library together one night when I was checking out… er, a book."

We all stared at him in silence for a moment, and I could see that his patented Look of Injured Innocence was about to resurface, so I kicked Sirius under the table and he promptly began nodding emphatically to show James his full agreement on the matter—with a completely straight face, too. You had to admire control like that.

"We'll be a bit short-handed," James continued, mollified, "but I'm sure we can—"

"—work something out," Sirius finished for him, succeeding in creeping me out rather a lot.

I was blushing. I realized I couldn't exactly deny Lily and I being close, because then I'd have to explain to James why I'd been with her in the library, and I didn't want to do that. I'd not yet worked up the courage to tell anyone other than Sirius about the tutoring, and now hardly seemed like the best time.

"But I want to be part of the mission," I whined, using his and Sirius' own idiotic terminology as a last resort for getting them to see it my way.

"You will be," James said soothingly. "Look-outs and decoys are just as important as the actual militants."

I narrowed my eyes at him. There it was again, that bloody "decoy" rubbish. And it looked as if that role was being pawned off on me, yet again. If I hadn't been doing this as vengeance for Aubrey, I'd have told them to shove off.

Instead, I scowled round at all of them and said, "Bugger it. Fine, what do I have to do?"

Knowing what was in store for me later tonight, I took refuge in James' Head Boy's room (while I still could), which was thankfully empty and I was fairly certain it would remain that way, aside from my own presence, for the rest of the day—hence its attraction.

I got through my homework in about an hour (ten minutes spent jotting down a few hasty diagrams for Ancient Runes—who cared if they were legible or not, since it was mostly funny squiggles and swirls that made no sense to me anyway?—; fifteen allotted to a joint effort of a Potions assignment on the Draught of Living Death and an Advanced Transfiguration essay that I'd already half-finished and only needed a few finishing touches; and the final thirty-five minutes gleefully working out the set of bonus Arithmancy problems Ackerman had given me as a special treat. He knew what a woman wanted, that one did.)

Thus without anything left to do—my cross-stitch was in my dorm room, tucked safely and clandestinely away in a box under my bed, and I didn't feel much like getting it and risking having to actually talk to someone—, I took a nice, long, restful nap, my first in quite some time.

I didn't wake until the middle of the afternoon, feeling refreshed and alert and more cheerful than I had in ages (well, I actually felt bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed when I woke up, but after making good use of James' private toilet facilities, that was when all the rest happened. Wonderful thing, toothpaste.)

Settling back on James' bed, I still wasn't sure yet if I was ready for the company of my peers, then decided my break from certain irritations (i.e., blokes in general) hadn't gone on quite long enough.

Soon, though; in fact, I could already feel a lurking, unexplained and absurd desire to place myself in the midst of the dickheads that were male-kind.

Okay, so I wasn't as cheerful as I'd thought. Or forgiving, for all that. But I was also a decoy, and where in the contract did it say we had to be such a pleasant lot?

Rifling through my school-bag looking for something to keep me entertained, I spotted some vaguely familiar gold spiraling letters.

Sirius' book. Hm. I'd not cracked it yet—it might be interesting, and it _had_ been rather thoughtful of him to go out of his way to get it for me.

Besides, I had decided after Friday night's tutorial that it would be my new personal vendetta against Lily Evans to do amazingly well in Charms just so that I could throw it back in her face and cry with righteous satisfaction, "See that, Evans? That's _me_ not needing _your_ help, which, you should know, was of no help whatsoever. However redundant that may sound. Because you're a cow and I'm not, so there."

Well. I was still working on my victory speech, obviously.

I opened '_Charm Casting Made Easy_' and turned past the foreword to '_Chapter One: Swish and Flick_.'

Crap. This wasn't going to be first-year all over again, was it? Because when Flitwick first told us about that Barrufio twat, I was so buggered about saying 'f' instead of 's' and ending up crushed beneath a bloody great bovine, that I nearly put James' eye out with my wand (and _yes_, it was an accident!). I could feel the repressed unpleasant childhood memories coming to the surface already.

But then I started reading. And bizarrely enough, I began to really take it in. I thought it might have something to do with the fact that it was like every word had come straight from Remus' detailed and precise library of notes (which had been my best and most productive teacher for near on seven years), or maybe it was just that I was determined to do well for once.

Whatever it was, I ended up getting through four chapters in only a couple of hours and by the time I'd begun my descent to the Great Hall for dinner, I felt like I'd really learned something.

Such a foreign experience, it was.

As I strode on, only making an absent, quasi-effort to keep from walking straight into people, I practiced several of my newly acquired wand techniques and enunciation pointers, murmuring under my breath as I went.

"Miss Spencer!" someone barked, "Magic in the hallways is strictly forbidden!"

I paused mid-flick and turned to see McGonagall glowering at me behind her spectacles from the other side of the throng of students passing through the second-floor corridor.

"I wasn't doing any magic!" I called back in indignation at being so unjustly accused.

"What do you call waving your wand about and muttering incantations? I suppose you were conducting an invisible orchestra?" she quipped scornfully, voice rising to be heard over the chatter of a gaggle of passing Hufflepuff sixth-years.

I sniffed and replied with greatest of dignity, "That is precisely what I was doing."

And I drifted away, waving my wand with grand, sweeping gestures, humming Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" (Spring, in case you were wondering) at the top of my lungs.

I met Remus, just in from one of his prefect things, at the top of the marble stairs. He was watching me curiously as I came up to him, staring at me like I was bonkers.

"You're quite bonkers, you know," he remarked conversationally.

I finished the last canto, then bowed deeply with a hand-twirling flourish, and straightened up with a wide grin. "I had a nap," I announced, not without a certain amount of pride.

"Ah," he said briefly, brows rising. "That does clear things up a bit. I must say, much as it pains me, I did miss the mad and never quite lucid Tia we all know and love."

"Aw, you flatter," I said, linking my arm with his (actually it was more me resting my fingers genially on his wrist, as his elbows were impeded by his usual daunting arm-load of books). Then I admitted gravely, "Remus, there I something I must confess to you. Something possibly shocking, which will cause you to perhaps want to cut off your own ears when you hear it."

"I'll take my chances," he assured me. "Go on, then. I'm sure my ill-fated ears will one day forgive me."

"Sirius and I have engaged in wild and passionate acts of love. Together."

Remus' expression was wry. "Yes, I expected as much," he said blithely.

"I understand if y—wait, come again?"

"Well, it's not as if you remembered to use a Silencing Charm this time, did you? Your not-quite-muffled giggle upon Peter's declaration that he thought the hernia he'd nearly given himself carrying the real Narcissa back to the corridor outside her dorm wouldn't have been quite worth it if Filch hadn't happened by the same moment she woke up and tried to pin a detention on her for after-hours napping in hallways."

I giggled again at the memory. Then I remembered myself and said, "Well… but… how come none of you said anything, then, if you knew I was there? James, especially—I'm not sure he really likes the idea of us together."

"Well, it's not exactly any of our business, is it? But don't feel too badly about it, James is coping. He had to prepare himself a bit before he could go inside the dorm—that's why we were so late, he made us help him come up with lines so that he wouldn't end up putting his foot in his mouth in front of you and Sirius."

It explained the stupid "ready for action" comment, anyway—James _would_ think something like that sounded unaffected and relaxed. Peter had probably encouraged him.

"But then… that means you knew before, doesn't it? Before you heard me last night, I mean."

"Oh, Sirius went and made sure if James was all right with the whole thing some time ago," Remus informed me. "Quite noble and considerate, I should say. Not like our dear Padfoot at all."

"How long is 'some time ago'?" I demanded, my stomach feeling all fluttery and unsettled, in a surprisingly pleasant way.

"Er… near the start of term, I believe. Not long after we came back from summer vacation. Why do you a—ouch! _Now_ what's the matter?"

My genial hand on his wrist had clamped down rather tightly at this new revelation. I immediately let go upon his pained exclamation, however, and ran the rest of the way into the Great Hall and to Gryffindor table.

If Sirius had asked James about his feelings on the two of us being together at the beginning of term, then that meant he must have fancied me since…

Oh, God. Oh goddygodgod. I was going to cry or something.

I found James and Sirius and Peter in the midst of a pitted pea-flicking battle, complete with spoons for multiple-projectile capabilities.

"Tia!" Sirius said, looking pleased when I skidded to a stop at his side. He flipped James off, chucked a balled-up napkin at Peter, then began picking pea-mush from his own dark hair. He gazed up at me, fingers working busily to extricate a particularly well-masticated green clump. "Where've you been all day? Oh, and guess what? They're serving spaghetti Bolognese, look!" He looked pensive a moment, as he swept an alarming amount of peas from his lap, then studied me curiously. "You've some Italian heritage, haven't you?"

"No!" I breathed emphatically, staring at him in an entirely new, completely flattering light, then grabbed his wrist and said, "Come on, we've got to go."

"What?" he squawked (was he still a little sore from my accidental karate-chop demonstration on his windpipe?) in protest. "But… spaghetti! Spaghetti _Bolognese_! That makes it special!" He resisted my efforts to drag him from the table and demanded, "_Why_ do we have to go?"

"Because I'm going to go down on you and I am not doing it in the middle of the Great Hall!"

James gagged on his very special meat sauce, Peter accidentally upended a basket of garlic bread and Sirius leapt up so quickly from his seat he nearly knocked me over.

"Fair enough," he said in a warbling sort of voice, gripped my hand and towed me away without further protest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve:** Herein Lies the Masked Swordsman's Birthplace

If there was one thing I'd learned during my forced company with Lily Evans, it was this: ginger-nobs were an overly suspicious sort.

Suspicious about there being any point in my setting her three times as many Arithmancy problems as in the actual class. Suspicious about me supposedly trying to get her and my cousin together when I spent half the day popping up everywhere to point out how ruggedly handsome James was, how clever and witty James was, how very wealthy and industrious James was (which I only made a prat of myself doing because he'd taken all my bed linen hostage with a few enviably accurate Summoning Charms and he _knew_ I couldn't sleep without a proper pillow.)

Suspicious about my suggesting we pop off to the Three Broomsticks together for a butterbeer.

Honestly, you'd think I'd been trying to poison her or some other equally excellent idea. Alas, I suffered from that annoying little thing called a soul, and anyway, I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction (of being right, I mean—who the hell was satisfied about being dead?)

At first she stared at me like I'd grown a second head. And then the suspicions started setting in.

"Why? You don't have anything illegal planned, do you, because I'll not cover for you just because I'm Head Girl—"

Are you _really_, Lily? Goodness, why didn't you tell me sooner?

I smiled in a reassuring manner and said, "What, illegal? No, not me, nothing of the sort. We'll be back in time for curfew, even—and if we aren't, I've got it taken care of. We can invite Aubrey, too, make a girl's night of it."

She eyed me with rather more scepticism than the situation called for, I thought. "It's Sunday evening. We've classes tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. "Oh, just live a little, why don't you? I know you've finished your homework, because there's no way you'd be sitting here talking to me if you hadn't. You haven't got rounds, either, because it's James' turn tonight. Unless you've already got plans with someone, what else is there to be worried about?"

"Aubrey isn't a legal adult, for one—"

"She doesn't have to drink the real stuff if she doesn't want to. Anyway, Madam Rosmerta's a doll, she won't make a fuss of it—or would you rather go to the Hog's Head?" I cocked a brow.

She made a face. "No, I wouldn't."

"That's settled, then. Get your cloak, so we can find Aubrey and be off," I ordered briskly.

She looked like she was going to protest further, but then seemed to think better of it, because she stood and asked coolly, "I suppose you expect me to pay for some of this, then?"

I shook my head, grinning happily. "Oh, no. My cousin is footing the bill. He _owes_ me, you see. You're acquainted with James, aren't you?" I inquired ironically, then skipped off to track down Aubrey.

The three of us stepped through the door of the Three Broomsticks at seven-thirty, thoroughly soaked to the skin by the icy rain that had pelted our skulls and cloak-covered bodies the whole walk (mad dash, really) here.

"S-So… bloody… c-c-cold," I wheezed, clutching the stitch in my side, collapsing in a sodden, breathless heap against Rosmerta's long, gleaming bar. I supposed this was all adding to my presently questionable endurance, but really, why did exercise have to be so much bloody _work_?

"'Evening, misses," Madam Rosmerta called jovially from where she stood next to a table to one end of the barroom, where she was serving a foursome of business-like looking wizards a foursome of business-like looking drinks.

Aubrey, who was normally extremely shy as it was, wouldn't have been able to respond anyway, as she was currently bent over double, dripping rainwater and struggling to catch her breath. Lily, however, looked merely rosy-cheeked and a tad breathless, as if she'd just been for a bit of a brisk stroll.

"Hello," she responded, panting slightly with a friendly smile, lifting a hand in greeting. She then went to work wringing out her dripping hair and robes.

"It's good to see you, Tia dear, and you both as well," Rosmerta said genially, coming over. She pulled out her wand and started drying Aubrey's robes quite efficiently. I made a mental note to be sure to learn that spell as soon as possible.

Leaning close to me, her earrings jingling gaily, she added in an undertone, "Especially good to see you in the company of other girls. Your friends are good lads, dear, but a girl needs someone she can relate to on all levels, eh?" She winked.

I stared at her for a moment in astonishment. Oh my God. Did this mean I had a bar-keep confidante? If I wasn't much mistaken, I did indeed. This was wonderful! I'd always wanted one of those, and I could certainly do worse that Rosmerta. Oh tra-la-la and happy days! I had my very own sounding board and part-time supplier of booze!

Hang on. Was that a good thing?

"Eh," I puffed gravely in agreement, then flung an arm each round Lily and Aubrey's shoulders, yanking them close (less as a show of affection, and more so that if I passed out altogether from either hyperventilation or lack of oxygen to the brain, there'd at least be a chance I wouldn't clunk my head on a barstool and succeed in concussing myself rather nicely.)

A few minutes later, we were all thankfully toasty and dry (our hair even styled up fashionably when Rosmerta got it into her head to make us her personal Barbie dolls—we looked quite fit, actually, a bit like Charlie's Angels, only less tarty) and seated in a booth near the hearth, with a nice view of the windows but still enough privacy so that if one of us did something prat-like such as snort milk up their nose (not that milk was on the menu tonight) they would at least be able to rest assured that they'd not disgraced themselves for all eternity. Not in front of anyone who mattered, anyway.

Rosmerta brought us our drinks, balancing them expertly on a tray and setting them one-by-one on the table with great ceremony. "A butterbeer for you, Blackberry vodka for you, and a gillywater and lemon for you, dear—I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Aubrey," Aubrey offered, with her shy smile, usual blush, and a sip of her drink.

Rosmerta smiled back and said, "Lovely name. Enjoy, just give me a shout if you need anything."

"_Gracias_," I said, with quite an atrocious accent, attacking my Blackberry eagerly. I swallowed a mouthful, made the appropriate face, and said on a gusty breath, "Oh, come on, that's excellent. You'll both have to try one of these, later."

Aubrey studied my glass with a wrinkle of her nose. "But I'm underage."

"Well, that's easy enough to get around. Rosmerta can only get in trouble if she sells alcohol to minors—it's not her fault if the minors take a sip here and now from their perfectly legal mates' glasses, is it?"

Lily was shaking her head, tut-tutting in a superior manner. "You are a terrible influence."

"Yes," I admitted agreeably, "but I have been influenced myself, so it's not really my fault I am the way I am. Sirius Black is the main culprit, though I suppose everybody's had their hand in at some point."

Lily snorted into her butterbeer. "How vulgar," she commented, smiling maliciously.

I paused to go over in my mind what I'd just said, nodded once tranquilly, then plucked Aubrey's lemon wedge from the rim of her glass and chucked it at Lily's head.

She shrieked in outrage, batting at the lemon stuck in her hair, and I said, smiling grimly, "Relax, citric acid is really good for hair. Possibly. Plus it leaves you smelling lemony fresh." I beamed cheerfully at the thought.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then allowed her lips to twitch reluctantly when she dropped the fruit wedge onto a napkin. Wiping her fingers, she regarded me for a moment, and said, "You seem different."

"I took a nap," I explained, sipping more Blackberry. "First one in ages. I know most people don't nap anymore now that they aren't little kids, but honestly, I can't see why we should ever stop. It has such a positive effect."

"Clearly," remarked Lily dryly, and Aubrey giggled.

I shot her a look of betrayal, then grudgingly smiled back, before tapping the surface of the table decisively. "Okay, look, I don't know about you two, but since it's on James' dime and we've got quite a few hours ahead of us, I plan to enjoy myself with great vigour and merriment. So here's my proposition—a truce, just for tonight, where nobody is nasty or a bitch to anyone else, unless it's all in good fun. Agreed?"

Aubrey smiled and nodded a bit puzzledly, as if she had no idea why she should have reason to be a bitch to anybody. Lily studied me a moment with an expression of consideration. Then she shrugged and said, "Might as well."

"I'm beside myself with joy and elation," I stated, matching her indifferent tone. "Now, who wants chips, because I missed dinner and I am _starving_."

I half-stood to signal to Rosmerta that her services were needed, and was surprised to hear Lily snicker in response to my words.

"What're you sniggering about?" I demanded, when Rosmerta said that she'd be back in a mo' with my chips. "I thought we weren't going to be nasty to each other tonight? Sniggering very often indicates a nasty thought passing through one's mind."

"Well, not nasty in the sense you mean," Lily amended, green eyes glittering with sardonic amusement.

Intrigued, my brows rose. "Sharing is caring," I reminded her.

"It's just that you did indeed miss dinner, and practically half the school knows why."

Aubrey blurted suddenly, "I heard a rumour." And then immediately turned fuchsia.

"Already?" I sighed, leaning back in my booth, and tipped back my glass to swallow the last mouthful, the ice chinking pleasantly. I opened my lips wide enough to let one ice-cube slip past, then set my glass down, crunching pensively. "Didn't take very long at all, did it?"

"It never does," Aubrey commented quietly.

I cast her a curious glance, but her gaze was fixed on the surface of the table and I turned back instead to Lily, choosing to leave it alone. "What're they saying, then?"

"Only that you and Black are a couple now, since somebody spotted you… er… how did you put it? Enjoying yourselves with great vigour and merriment, quite obliviously and up against the wall in a third-floor corridor."

Aubrey choked on her drink. I'd wondered who would be the first.

"Arms up. Good girl," I said, patting her soothingly on the back, and then to Lily, "We, er, got side-tracked on the way upstairs. It was just snogging, anyway, maybe a bit on the heavy side… what we did in the open was just snogging, anyway." I shrugged.

"So… so _are_ y-you a couple, then?" croaked Aubrey, coughing a bit, eyes streaming, and going red in the face for once not due to over-active capillaries.

"I… suppose," I replied, slowly. "It's sort of complicated."

Lily nodded knowingly, and I was relieved that neither asked me to elaborate, because I didn't really want to reveal the fact that my only assurance that what I had with Sirius was even official, was that I'd agreed in written word to sit in his lap, and allowed him to be my Armchair.

My brows drew together. I really had to have a talk with Sirius, I realized abruptly. A proper one, without snogging to distract us. I might have to tie him down to manage that, but manage it I would.

"So, if you don't mind my asking, did he think giving up his precious pasta was worth it?" Lily inquired conversationally.

I knew exactly what she was talking about (I hardly needed to ask, being painfully aware of how I'd broadcast the fact to practically half of Gryffindor table) and I felt my face grow a bit warm at the memory of just what Sirius had thought of giving up said pasta. As I seemed to recall, after he'd got done promising me the moon and the stars in between all the bloody sexy noises he was making, he informed me—with considerable difficulty—that he adored the fucking ground I walked on.

His speech became somewhat obscene when in the throes of ecstasy, I'd noticed. It was kind of hot. Anyway, I supposed it was the thought that counted (though I was forced to admit that very little cohesive thought actually passed through a bloke's mind when he was in such a position.)

"I don't think he minded," I answered at last, vaguely. "He'll probably raid either the kitchens or my and Remus' chocolate stashes, anyway—he's hardly in danger of starving."

At the mention of chocolate, my stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud, but luckily Rosmerta arrived a moment later with my plate of chips and all the required accoutrements, as well as a refill of my drink.

Ah, the woman knew me so well, reading my every whim and want.

Oh crap. That meant she really was my bar-keep confidante. I considered momentarily that maybe I had a bit of a problem on my hands, but then decided, "Enh."

"Ta," I said gratefully to her back, then poured ketchup and vinegar in equal copious amounts onto the fried potatoes, and tucked in.

"That is disgusting," Lily said, gazing at my food in horrified astonishment.

I blinked and asked thickly through a mouthful of chips, "What?"

"How can you desecrate perfectly good potatoes with all that… that…"

It looked as though Lily Evans, Mistress of the Spoken Word, was at a bit of a loss.

"… blech!" She gave a dramatic sort of shudder.

Ah, there it was.

I swallowed. "Indeed. Anyway, this is the only way to eat them. Try one, I swear, they're amazing."

Both girls peered dubiously into my plate, then hesitantly went picking and searching for a chip that was as blech-free as possible.

I leaned back, taking a sip of my drink as I watched their faces with amusement when they finally each popped one into their mouths.

Aubrey's eyes began to water, and she appeared to be quite close to gagging, but gulped down gamely and squeaked, "S'good."

Lily, on the other hand, chewed contemplatively for a moment, really savouring the flavour, taking her time in making a decision. She swallowed, dabbed daintily at the corner of her lip with a napkin, then dropped the crumpled napkin on the table and declared, "That was the most horrendously foul thing I've ever tasted."

I scowled. "It's delicious and I refuse to let you ruin this for me while I enjoy my nutritious snack. So please shut up."

"Your taste buds are defective," Lily informed me, probably truthfully—what the hell part of me _wasn't_ just a little bit screwed up?

I shrugged, searching calmly for my next victim on my plate. "Maybe. But bringing it up wasn't very nice of you. How do you know it isn't a sensitive issue? My feelings might be hurt."

"I doubt it," she replied derisively—then seemed to deflate all of the sudden. "I'm sorry, that was borderline nasty, wasn't it? I just… sorry."

"Oh." I stared at her. I honestly hadn't even thought about it like that—this was my idea of witty banter. But I had a feeling it wouldn't be everyday I'd get a heartfelt apology out of Lily Evans, and so I smiled a bit quizzically and said, "Er… you're forgiven."

She returned the smile, then finished the last of her butterbeer. "Good. Now, I think I'm ready for something a bit stronger. And since Potter is so graciously paying our way…" She moved her shoulders expressively, as if to say, "Who am I to argue?" Then her smile turned feline and she wondered aloud, "Do you think he'll be pleased to hear our first date is going so well?"

"Hmm. Maybe a bit more if he'd actually been here, but what can you do? Now Lily, Aubrey—I'm ordering your next drinks for you, so what d'you say—feeling brave?"

To my immense surprise, I realized sometime around ten o'clock that I was really and truly enjoying myself. Almost, I thought, more than I'd have done if I was with the lads.

I could only assume that they'd gotten well underway the second stage of Operation: Snape is a Stupid Tit (three guesses who came up with that one—and _no_, it wasn't me.) I could only assume, and I wished them lots of luck. In the meantime, I had better things to think about (even though I was supposed to be on my own decoy mission, which was going swimmingly, if I did say so myself—and I didn't, but _if_ I did, that's what I would say.)

I raised my glass of our sixth round (well, my sixth, their fifth) and toasted cheerfully, "To wonderful, infuriating, sexy, darling blokes who fancy you from afar and then give you explosive and unbelievable sex without you even having to ask."

"I'll drink t'that," Aubrey said with equal amounts of cheer (though keep in mind she'd been saying the very same thing for the past half-hour or so), and did.

"I think you're on your last one, there, sweet," I warned her, feeling pleasantly light-headed myself, and at that happy medium stage of pissed where you're not yet slurring your words (much), but you show an overt amount of affection to make up for it.

I was probably about done as well, anyway—it wasn't my aim to get fall-down drunk, and besides, I didn't put much store in either girl's ability to carry me back to the castle. Not that I wasn't confident they were strong enough (Lily was about two inches taller than me, and Aubrey _looked_ spindly, but I knew from experience by holding her hand during some of the tenser moments of the Quidditch match yesterday, the girl had a grip on her.) I just felt they might have lacked the… er… coordination needed to keep someone else upright, when they were having quite enough trouble standing up themselves (I knew, because on a trip to the loo they managed to get out of their seats okay, but then ended up veering right into one of the potted plants Rosmerta kept.)

Safely seated back at the table, though, both Lily and Aubrey were grinning blissfully. The latter was undoubtedly the farthest gone out of all of us, despite having had to drink the least, though I supposed tolerance had to count for something. She was most definitely coming along nicely, however.

Jesus. I really was a terrible influence, wasn't I?

I felt the first stirrings of guilt, but then was sufficiently distracted when Lily suddenly ducked under the table, disappearing beneath it. I at first thought she was about to be violently sick all over my shoes, but after a few muffled curses and what I thought might be her accidentally cracking the top of her head on the underside of the table, she surfaced again, on our side of the booth this time, poking her head up from between my and Aubrey's right and left legs, respectively.

"Shove over," Lily ordered, squirming her way from underneath the table and onto the bench with us.

I obliged, getting as close to the wall as I could, while Aubrey shifted to the edge of the seat, and there was just enough room for the three of us to sit cosily together on one side of the tiny booth.

"I was feeling left out," Lily informed us, then promptly kissed my cheek, and laid her head on Aubrey's shoulder. Aubrey, in turn, promptly fell out of her seat.

Amidst the shrieking laughter that ensued, I gratefully accepted the help of a pair of rather dishy blokes from a table diagonal to us for gallantly lifting her to her feet, then getting her more securely settled in the booth by giving her my seat against the wall. I switched places with her, having a bit more control over my corporal faculties, and favoured them with a grin.

"Cheers," I said, nudging Lily over a bit so both arse-cheeks were actually touching the seat.

"No problem," the blond one said, waggling his eyebrows, and abruptly I could have sworn I'd seen him before. "You're from up at the school, are you?"

Ah, that explained it. He couldn't have been in my house, as he looked only vaguely familiar, but it was indeed very likely he and his mate went to Hogwarts.

"Yeah, our last year," I replied, staring in fascination at his eyebrows. I couldn't fathom the sort of muscle mastery required for such a talent. _I_ certainly couldn't control mine that well, not beyond raising one now and again. I wondered what sorts of exercises were necessary to develop said talent.

Oh, sod it. More exercise. I was becoming a fanatic. I'd start caring about my health soon if I wasn't careful.

"Hang on, you're the Head Girl," the dark one exclaimed, gaping at Lily with a spreading grin of wicked glee. "And you're snookered!"

Which, incidentally, isn't the best word to say to a snookered person.

Lily burst out laughing, shoulders trembling as she collapsed forward onto the table to cackle helplessly into her forearms. Although, I could have sworn I heard her say, between giggles, something that sounded suspiciously like, "Five points from Slytherin."

"Er… right." I waved a hand at the boys in what I hoped was an imperious manner, doing my best impression of McGonagall. "Thank you for your assistance. You may go now."

The dark boy glanced in amusement over his shoulder at Lily—who was now wiping her streaming eyes and draping herself over my shoulder, still snickering softly—one last time, but he and his blond companion did return to their table without protest, lips twitching irresistibly.

Lily, the dear, got even more demonstrative and tactile while hammered than I did. It was sort of endearing, actually, in a distantly amusing way. I didn't want to think of the hangovers the two of them would be the proud owners of come tomorrow morning, however.

Mindful of this, and feeling a bit guilty that I'd practically gotten them this way, I ordered a round of gillywater for us all.

"This'll help for tomorrow morning, keep you properly hydrated," I told them, taking a swallow of the oddly tangy liquid myself.

"Tomorrow morning?" Aubrey asked with genuine innocence—was there any other kind with her?

Ah, well. They do say the good die young (though what this had to do with it, I wasn't sure.) I just knew some things were better learned firsthand.

"Never mind," I told her. "Just drink your gillywater, and if you have a bit of a headache tomorrow, come find me and I'll have something more for you that'll help."

"I love you, Tia Spencer," Lily informed me warmly, now rubbing her cheek against my arm like a cat (only with a real cat, it would be _its_ arse, and _my_ face. God, I hated my mum's Siamese, Po Xing. Bloody horny fur-ball. And he only ever came to me when I was sleeping and he decided it would be a spiffing idea to sit on my oxygen-providing air-hole, or else when he was feeling a bit peckish—for _human flesh_.)

"Do you really? That's very nice of you, Po Xi—er, I mean Lily."

"I really, really, _really_ do," she confirmed, with marked vehemence. "I know I can be a bit of a cow sometimes, but that's only because you piss me off a lot. Deep down, _I_ actually _love_ you a lot."

"Maybe we should run away together to the Cayman Islands," I suggested. "I think Jamesy'd get a kick out of that. Or he'd just try to kick me. Whichever."

"Nope, too sunny," she shook her head, shooting down that idea almost immediately. "Think of my complexion. Think of the _freckles_."

I tapped my lips meditatively, thinking about the freckles quite hard.

Ooh. Dirty. Hee! Oh my God, I needed more gillywater if I was going to be walking home under my own steam.

"What about Spain? It's sunny there, too, but lots more places to find shade. And the shopping. And the Spanish people. Maybe we'll meet Zorro."

"Isn't he Mexthi—Methk—from Central America?" Aubrey asked, blinking slowly and repeatedly like an interested goldfish. Her mouth was even a bit open in her confusion, like an "o." Not covered in orange scales, obviously. "Isn't he? Tia? I think he is."

I really did not know. And I suddenly realized what a ruddy shame that was. I decided the minute I could see straight again, I was finding an atlas to look it up (though the chances of an atlas having a little footnote saying, "Herein lies the Masked Swordsman's birthplace" were probably not very good.)

"Spain sounds fine," Lily said serenely. "As long as Aubrey comes along."

"Threesome. Kinky. I could do that. Though I warn you, you'd be taking terrible advantage of me, because… did you know, I think I might be a little bit tipsy?" I yawned, then picked up Aubrey's new lemon and squirted it absently over my head, the fresh-smelling droplets spraying my hair.

"Ll'your hair be nice an' shiny now?" Aubrey wondered, slurring her words worse than usual.

"Yethck," I said thickly, speaking through the lemon wedge I was now sucking contemplatively on. It wasn't quite as sour as I'd expected. Considerate lemon.

"Oh," Aubrey gazed quite intently at Lily's untouched glass of gillywater, which still had the lemon intact. Solemnly and without a word, she reached over, lifted it with the extreme care only the very drunk can manage, and silently dumped it on her head.

I blinked across a quietly humming Lily at Aubrey's now dripping-wet self, my lemon wedge still gormlessly in place in front of my teeth, and decided, perhaps a bit late in the running, that it was time to go back to Hogwarts.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: I Am a Hummingbird on Steroids**

I didn't manage the daunting task of getting us all back to the school without a little outside help, of course. Due to the rather important fact that I was the most soberest (oh _God_) of all of us, the task of getting us back to the school was graciously delegated to me (I say 'delegated,' but really it was a moot point when you considered that Lily was busy chatting up what I strongly suspected to be a hag in britches, and Aubrey was just this side of too bloody sotted to remember her own name—honestly, they simply didn't have any proper constitution).

Using both the magic mirror I had borrowed off James earlier in the evening and Extreme Concentration (oh yes, it really was that difficult, absolutely epithet-worthy), I managed to convey to a highly amused Sirius that I needed for him to come meet us outside Honeyduke's sweet shop, and that bringing along either James or Remus wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

In the event, they all ended up coming to fetch us—none of them quite succeeding in concealing their vastly entertained grins. Lily seemed unusually pleased to see James and it looked as though the top of his head might blow off in the sheer euphoria of it all. Then she called him 'Zorro' and insisted that if he expected to get into bed with her, Aubrey and I while visiting us in our villa in Spain, he would _have_ to remove his sword first.

Which prompted Sirius, in between fits of hysterical laughter, to ask what on earth the point would be?

We managed to sneak into Honeyduke's cellar without James and Sirius killing each other, and from there made an unsteady, though rather speedy (due mostly to the fact that the lads quickly gave up trying to keep us from falling flat on our faces, and carried us the majority of the way) journey through the dirt-packed tunnel leading back to Hogwarts.

Our ascent to Gryffindor Tower took a bit longer, because only three people could fit under the Invisibility Cloak at a time, and so we were forced to take it in turns. James had brought the Cloak with him as an extra precaution, which was lucky because on my, James' and Lily's trip upstairs, we met no less than two professors and once, we nearly trod on Mrs. Norris, who, even though we never made a sound, I could have sworn knew we were there.

Watching me with those creepy-arse cat eyes.

Anyway, I got Lily and Aubrey up to their respective beds without permanently maiming either one of them, which one must admit is a huge success. Aubrey fell asleep on me before I'd even got us in the door to the sixth-year dorms, but one of her dorm-mates was scared of me enough so that I was able to enlist her help in dragging Aubrey the rest of the way. Lily managed to stay on her own two feet without incident until we reached the seventh-year dorm—the regular one, as I simply didn't have the energy to get her all the way to the Head Girl's room, and anyway, James would have noticed us going in there, and the fact she had now chosen to occupy the Heads dorm after all was something James wasn't strictly supposed to be privy to. Something that was, in a word, er… secret.

And even I wasn't bitch enough to give her away, not even when she'd been driving me mad and acting like a complete cow. James-in-Love could really be a bit bothersome and to inflict him that way on another living creature was nothing short of cruel.

I loved my cousin, but not in a blind, utterly delusional sort of way.

I was up at the ungodly hour of six the next morning, dragged out of bed by a harshly unsympathetic Sirius, who did nothing more than grin wickedly, inform me (quite hypocritically, too) that I had horrid morning hair, and then hand me a bottle of Padfoot & Prongs' patented hangover potion, before skipping off (literally _skipping_, and I could have sworn I heard him humming 'Fernando' on the way out.)

Cursing Sirius, his insufferable cheeriness and all manners of imbibing the world over, I stumbled into the loo, took some potion, then went about attempting to drown myself in the sink before the potion's effects actually started to kick in.

Once they had, however, my nauseated, roiling stomach was properly soothed and my pounding, aching skull no longer fit-to-burst. It was then I realised Sirius Black was a beautiful, lovely, angelic boy and my love for him burned with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

The only side-effect of the hangover cure that neither James nor the aforementioned gorgeous cherub had been able to work out yet was a slight, excessive boost of energy. Its basic consequence made you feel like a hummingbird on steroids, though this luckily wore off within a couple of hours.

In the meantime, feeling alert and refreshed, I raced about the dorm washing and dressing at top-speed, just barely avoiding crashing into anything or waking anybody up. I poured two doses of the hangover potion into phials which I then left on Lily's and Aubrey's nightstands (managing the lot in about forty-five seconds—with a diluted draught for Lily, because while I felt bad for making her hung-over, I didn't want her to go into overload, like I was—she was scary enough as it was), then clattered down the rest of the stairs to the common-room, which was dim with pinkish light and empty except for Remus, James, Peter and Sirius himself.

I skidded to a stop at Remus' side, vibrating with unspent energy. "Morning!"

Sirius cocked a brow down at me, while James looked at his watch and said wryly, "Three and a half minutes. Huh. I think the potion's getting weak with age, Padfoot."

I jumped up and down on the balls of my feet, positively shivering with excitement and borrowed verve, and said all in one breath, "Shut-up-James-hurry-up-let's-do-this-before-any-of-the-staff-wakes-up-and-oh-my-God-this-is-going-to-be-priceless!"

Remus patted me on the head kindly. "Yes, yes, it is." He leaned over to Sirius and asked lowly out of the corner of his mouth, "How badly will she have crashed by the time the potion wears off?"

"Taking into consideration how much sleep her body normally needs to cope, and also the speed of her metabolism… I'd say really bloody hard," Sirius replied cheerfully.

"S'better-than-my-head-exploding-now-can-we-_move_-before-I-pee-myself?"

About two hours later the "Final Stage" was completed, and the five of us were sitting in the Great Hall, some of the first students to arrive for breakfast. I was the only one not eating, and I found myself—not for the first time—completely baffled at a boy's singular ability to consume food even under times of greatest duress, as if he actually possessed an appetite and that bottomless pit he called a stomach wasn't, in fact, tied in knots and threatening to send right back up whatever he put into it.

Me, nervous? No, why do you ask?

Whatever you wanted to call it—my natural instincts, woman's intuition, a healthy case of nerves before show-time—'it' was going haywire. More than of getting caught—it would be so worth it, no matter what happened—I was afraid something would go wrong, afraid it wouldn't work, and then all of our hard work and careful planning would go to waste (I could finally understand why this always meant so much to the lads), but worse, Snape wouldn't get what he deserved.

Actually, he really deserved to be horse-whipped, possibly smacked around good and proper by a pack of giants, but you took what you could get.

I hadn't told Aubrey yet what we were doing for her, and I wasn't sure if I ever would. I knew she didn't want to have anything to do with Severus Snape anymore, and just knowing what we'd done was enough for me. Being able to tell everybody would have been nice, because then Snape would know who he was messing with, but seeing the look on his face when he at last entered the Great Hall would have to suffice.

And, oh, it would.

I was sitting between Sirius and Remus at the breakfast table, my thigh touching Sirius', his left hand resting on my knee while he ate ravenously with his right. I couldn't help bouncing up and down slightly in my seat with ill-suppressed nerves and residual hangover potion still coursing through my veins (though I could feel the crash coming already, and fast), unable to focus on any one thing and completely unable to relax.

"You're makin' me tired jus' lookin' at you," Peter told me thickly, grimacing around a mouthful of kippers.

I tried to look apologetic, not trusting the steadiness of my voice enough to speak, and made a conscious effort to stop moving.

Sirius lifted a heaping forkful of eggs to his mouth, then reached across my restless lap with his free hand for my own, which was chilled and clammy, closing his warm fingers around mine.

"Usheacknlleefen," he said, comfortingly.

Remus looked a bit faint. "Does nobody speak without food in their mouths around here?" he asked weakly, turning his gaze up to the ceiling, as if asking for strength from a higher power.

James, good friend that he was, swallowed his bacon before saying to me, "Are you still a bit hung-over? I'm actually amazed you were able to stay standing, the state you were in last night—but then, you've always given Pads and me a run for our money when it comes to playing Sickles or Exploding Schnapps. I've only just recently got the smell of butterscotch out of my hair."

The mention of drinking games past did nothing for my already turning stomach, but I shook my head and managed, "It isn't that."

"Did Lily Evans call you a cow again?" Peter asked sympathetically.

James glared at him for besmirching the pure and innocent name of his dearest Evans by putting such foul words in her mouth, but I just shook my head again and replied absently, "No, she says she really quite likes me, deep-down."

James beamed at me.

"I think we're running away to the tropics together. Or wait, no—freckles—no, we decided to build our love-nest in Madrid."

Sirius grinned amazedly around another forkful of eggs, while James' look turned murderous, and Peter nodded encouragingly.

"There you go, maybe the two of you can be friends now."

I wasn't so sure about that. My memories of last night were clear enough, but I sincerely doubted Lily would be in the same mindset as she'd been after a few drinks in her. I couldn't say I was totally opposed to a tentative friendship with her—not fighting and bickering every five minutes had been a nice change of pace—but I wasn't expecting a miracle, either. Anyway, she was the least of my worries right now.

"Err… we haven't got a plan B or anything, have we?" I inquired, as casually as I could under the circumstances.

"Of course we have," James scoffed, spearing a sausage from the platter with rather more force that was necessary. "What do you think we are? Incompetent? Unprepared? Un… er… the opposite of geniuses?"

"Stupid people."

"Yes, thank you, Moony—do you think we are stupid people, Tia?"

I decided against answering, as it might upset him further, and asked instead, "What is plan B, then?"

"We nick Locksley's megaphone and announce to everybody today at break that Snape is a stupid tit."

"Hence, 'Operation: Snape is a Stupid Tit'," Sirius expanded generously, for the benefit of those of us with_out_ basic deductive capabilities, and squeezed my hand as a show of moral support.

I looked to Remus in disbelief, but he appeared to have given up on the lot of them long ago, as he now had his nose buried in a copy of Advanced Transfiguration, Grade 7 (_my_ copy, come to that—I'd wondered where that had gotten to.)

"Well, shit," I announced succinctly, then let my head fall forward onto the table with a dull _thunk_.

"Cheer up, old bean," Sirius told me, with a hearty pat on the rump. "There's nothing to worry yourself over. The Concealment charms are timed for eight o'clock and if they don't go off then, we can always try again tomorrow. You aren't in any particular rush, are you?"

Rush? No, no rush. Moving fast—moving at all—was not something I very much wanted to do right then. I was feeling worse than ever now that the crash from the potion was slipping heavily over me like a cloak made of lead, and I let my uncooperative limbs hang about as they were.

"Unngh_nnlhh_," I replied, my forehead glued to the table surface.

"Now that's settled," Remus began dryly, peeking out from behind his book, "we can get on with other issues. Here come the first of them." He jerked his chin towards the entrance.

The Great Hall was nearly empty but for a smattering of students at each of the four tables. Several professors were already seated eating their breakfasts, but besides that, most of Hogwarts had yet to come downstairs.

Then we all looked over to the entrance of the Hall and saw a half-dozen Ravenclaw sixth-years trickling through the doors, expressions of mingled scandal and delight on their countenances, whispering furiously to each other as they crossed to their table.

I couldn't hear any of what they said, but by they way they kept sending furtive glances at the Slytherin table (which was the least populated of them all), I could guess.

I breathed a sigh of relief, deciding the charms had activated at the appointed time after all, and reached over for a piece of toast.

"Let's settle in for the show, eh?" Sirius grinned wickedly, winking across the table at Peter and James as a large herd of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors clamoured in to the Hall, wearing similar expressions to their predecessors, chattering loudly and laughing in delighted disbelief.

"And you were thinking we'd need to resort to plan B," James said, in that same scoffing tone as before.

"That's lucky, too, because it wasn't much of a plan, was it?" I said, smearing creamed honey on a piece of currant bread. Upsetting him suddenly didn't seem like such an awful thing anymore.

He looked mortally offended. "I will have you know, I had rather better things to worry about than a solid secondary plan. Such as, oh I don't know… the _actual_ one?"

"All right, keep your knickers on," I said, my tone placating, then lifted the sugary goodness to my mouth to take a bite, sinking my teeth into the sweet, dense bread.

It shrieked in pain.

I gagged, dropping the bread in shock—it landed honey-side down, _of course_—, and leapt out of my seat, cursing.

"Bloody f—"

There was a second scream, as blood-curdling and terrified as the first, and it was then I noticed everyone's head had whipped round to stare open-mouthed at the entrance, the lads' included. Remus' book (bugger, _my_ book—Pince would kill me if she saw it at the breakfast table, near food and—horror of horrors—coffee, the bane of brown ringed pages everywhere) lay forgotten on his seat, and he now stood as I was, his nose raised slightly as if scenting danger in the air.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I stood with my gaze fixated on Remus; he had visibly tensed, ears practically twitching to attention. It was rare times like these I was forced to realise that even when he wasn't transformed, my friend was still very much the wolf.

"Let's go," James said, unnecessarily—we were already hurrying around the table and sprinting towards the doors, those students and teachers in the Hall milling out with and after us.

The sight that met us in the Entrance Hall was one that caused me to draw up short as soon as we reached it, Peter bumping into my back at my abrupt stop, and steadying us both with a hand on my elbow. Then he gasped in my ear at what we all saw.

Snape, surrounded by at least two dozen other students of varying ages and houses, stood in the centre of the Entrance Hall, brandishing his wand in one tightly clenched fist, clasping a large, crumpled paper in the other. The other students were giving him a wide berth, and his expression told me why. It was one of twisted, black, half-crazed fury, dark with blood and entirely not his own with contorting rage.

My heart skipped a beat.

His black eyes were slits of shimmering anger, the hostility emanating off him in waves, and he didn't look quite sane as he turned in jerky, wild circles, his gaze flickering over the many alarmed countenances staring at him, as if he was searching furiously for something he couldn't find.

"You dare laugh at me?" he roared in outrage to the crowd in general, spittle flying, and threateningly raised his wand. He shook the paper in his fist, greasy locks trembling with each rage-filled movement. "Which of you common Mudblood ingrates did this? Which? I demand to know! I will teach you to act above your station—do you not see what I am capable of?" His voice echoed off the walls.

It was then I noticed the small body on the floor at his feet; a young Gryffindor boy I couldn't tell the identity of, as he was curled into himself and moaning piteously, which could be heard every time Snape stopped his ranting long enough to draw breath.

Blood was thudding dully in my head, the pulse-point at the base of my throat fluttering shallowly like butterflies wings. I felt frozen, my feet stuck to the floor, my legs numb, and I was having difficulty understanding what was going on—_why_ it was going on.

Then I caught sight of exactly what it was Snape was gripping in his fist, recognised it, and my blood ran cold.

One of the photos. We'd done this.

_Shit_.

At that precise moment, that moment of horrible, guilt-ridden truth, James stepped forward and shouted to be heard over Snape's raving, "Oi, Snivellus!"

"James, don't—" I protested weakly, reaching out a hand to stop him.

But he ignored me, and when Snape whirled round to glare at him, wand held aloft and at the ready, he went on, smirking, "There's no need to be attacking innocent first-years, just because they had to be subjected to your _greasy, poofter's arse_ plastered all over the school walls!"

If it were possible, Snape's awful expression darkened even more and he screamed, arms flailing wildly, "You! _You_! It's _always_ you, Potter; you and your fucking pet mongrel!"

I could hear professors far behind us pushing to get through the shifting mass of students, but James either didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care. He grinned slowly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "That's right. And it always _will_ be us, because we're better than you, Snivellus, and the minute you realise that, we'll all be that much happier."

"NO!" Snape actually stamped his foot on the ground. "This stops _now_! I have had enough!" He waved his wand in a vicious, striking motion. "_Oblido cordis_!"

Dimly and dazed, as if in a dream, I watched as a blazing stream of electric-blue light burst from the tip of his wand and the hall erupted in alarmed screams and the sounds of retreating feet as the wildly-aimed jet of magic shot through the parting crowd.

Someone at my elbow emitted a soft, breathless sound, and there was the muffled thud of a body crumpling to the floor.

I closed my eyes, my stomach clenching painfully, then looked down, my head swimming so badly it felt as though it took ages for my neck to turn and bend, a rushing, roaring noise in my ears.

A boy lay on the floor next to my left ankle, his body twisted at the waist, his face hidden by the black robes which had been swept up haphazardly. Lithely muscled boy-limbs, rough on the edges yet oddly graceful, were tangled in the dark folds of his cloak, looking hauntingly familiar to similar limbs tangled in my own bed-sheets. I took in the inch of smooth gold skin beneath his white oxford-shirt, ridden up to reveal a black leather belt and grey trousers, and above that, the waistband of white-and-black silk paw-print boxers.

Someone screamed.

I was pretty sure it was me.

The next twenty minutes were a blur of hysterics and movement and urgency.

I remembered being shoved aside by Professor McGonagall and Mr. Locksley, the latter hunkering down beside Sirius and beginning to furiously apply an array of Healing spells, muttering non-stop under his breath a stream of both foreign and familiar incantations.

I remembered an almost continuous wave of noise, rising up and fading out at intervals, though I didn't think anyone actually stopped talking or shouting or making a ruckus in general.

I remembered James' pale face, his eyes wide and full of disbelief behind his glasses; the desperation in his stance as he looked down at his felled best friend.

I remembered accidentally backing into Remus' chest, the way his arms banded like steel around my waist; he was warm as ever, and smelled like he always did, but the inside of my stomach and chest remained cold as ice. He shook a bit, though I didn't know if that was leftover tension or… something else.

I remembered, quite clearly, someone shouting at "Severus;" the name sounding so strange on whosever tongue it was; shouting things like, "Every single last point from Slytherin!" and "You are an awful, despicable specimen of the human race and should be packed off to Azkaban straight away and then with a bit of luck, you'll be suitably reduced to some sadist's homoerotic fantasy enactor, and bloody well like it!"

Oh. When had Lily got here?

Following immediately afterwards was a voice, one full of relief, raw and ragged, yelling, "Pulse! I've found a pulse! Right, let's get him upstairs. Move!"

And the last lucid thing I remembered was James looking lost and helpless, saying, with a pathetic break in his voice that I would tease him mercilessly about later, "Tee… Tia… where—" and when I started to step away from Remus to go to him, Lily came running towards us, her hair flying, her face flushed and angry and scared. She shoved him hard in the chest, exclaiming, "Potter, you look so _stupid_!" and then threw her arms around him.

And he clung on blindly, burying his face in her shoulder. She let him, and that was okay.

Outside the hospital wing, the four of us (Peter, Remus, James and I—Lily, both embarrassed by her actions and not wanting to miss out on any schoolwork—swot—had left for class, which the rest of us had flat-out refused to do, and nobody had yet tried to force us) had set up camp, sitting on our balled-up robes, huddling together and waiting until they would finally let us in to see Sirius.

Though we'd followed them all up to the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey had done no more than admonish us for causing such a disturbance to her other patients, and shut the doors in our faces.

The worst was the not knowing; not knowing what was happening, how badly hurt he was, whether he was even still alive—

Oh God. Fuck. Not a productive line of thinking, Spencer, stop that right now.

I clutched even tighter to Remus' invariably warm fingers with my own numbed ones, scooting imperceptibly closer to his side. James, on my other side, sat with his legs sprawled out, gazing steadily down at his hands resting limply in his lap, as if they were the most fascinating things in the world.

I doubted he actually saw them.

Peter was sniffling quietly, though I wasn't sure if he was crying or not. I couldn't look to check, because every time my eyes met with one of theirs, I would feel that dangerous, creeping tickle of hysteria in the back of my throat and I felt like I would explode if I didn't burst into either tears or laughter.

Either option horrified me.

I wanted my mum. Abruptly and with a sudden rush of urgency, I wanted her this very instant, however childish a desire that was. I wanted to press my face in the sweet-smelling crook of her neck, to have her arms wrap around me in the warm, fragrant, encompassing embrace that only a mother can give. I wanted her here to tell me it was all right, even if I didn't believe it. I didn't want to feel helpless anymore, and Mum always took charge in an emergency.

Or Dad. Dad would hold me, too; his arms strong and protective and shielding from the dangers of the world as a father's should be; a total, impenetrable refuge that was something only the two of us shared. He would stand by me, behind me, beating away everything bad—as plain and simple as that—and he wouldn't stop until everything _was_ all right.

Buggering arse fuck. I wanted _Sirius_.

I sniffled at the same time that a sob forced its way past the gigantic lump in my throat, and I made an absurd, snorting-keening sort of sound that I should have been thoroughly mortified for even making in the presence of another human being.

Instead, I let James take my hand—his was as cold and sweaty as mine, but his grip was firm and reassuring—and when Remus put an arm around me and—sweetly enough—Peter, I leaned into him and let go.

"Oh for Merlin's sake—how long have you four been out here?"

I opened my stinging, swollen eyes, raising my head slightly from Remus' shoulder to gaze blearily at Madam Pomfrey, who stood in the doorway to the hospital wing with her hands on ample hips and a scolding expression on her nevertheless kind face. Her hair under the starched white cap she wore looked a bit dishevelled, as though she'd had better things to worry about for quite some time.

Her hair often looked that way, I realised in a very calm and utterly pointless corner of my mind.

"Err…" Remus appeared to be trying to lift his arm in order to read his watch, but it looked as if I had made it go numb by sleeping (however fitfully) on it. He gave up, and replied instead, "A… er… while."

James opened his eyes as well, then, and when he saw Madam Pomfrey standing there, he leapt up with a speed and agility that belied the fact he'd been sound asleep a split second before.

"How is he? Is he alive? Is he horribly disfigured? Has he still got his wand hand, or does he have to train up his left now? I've already worked out a therapy program if he does, it'll be ace, we can do it together; I've always wanted to be ambidextrous. Can we _go in_ yet?" James blurted out, practically all in one breath, vibrating with badly suppressed anxiety.

Though I, too, had felt about a hundred years old a moment earlier (even though the hangover potion had worn off hours ago), I now experienced a great surge of energy and scrambled to my feet, demanding, "Yes, can we?"

I refused to believe, even for a second, that any other of James' questions would be relevant, because of the obvious answer: _He is fine._

I just wished obviousness wasn't so subjective a quality.

"Yes, well, I came out here to find someone who could bring a note to Professor Dumbledore for me, but I suppose you may all go in to see Mr. Black while I do that myself. I trust, however, that you will do it quietly and not disturb the other patients?"

When we all nodded earnestly, Remus and Peter getting to their feet as well, she conceded with a short nod of her head.

"Very well. He is on the left-hand side, towards the middle, with the privacy curtains. And remember, all of you—_be quiet_." And then she bustled off down the corridor, her practical, flat-soled shoes ghostly quiet on the stone floor, and disappeared round the corner.

James was already shoving open the door, but once he'd gone inside, he stopped short, looking suddenly lost again. I knew he had no phobia or issue with a hospital atmosphere—he'd spent enough time in this very one, growing up—and so such behaviour was a bit odd to see.

But I had other things forefront in my mind; such as getting to Sirius and… I didn't know. Just getting to him.

There were a few beds with privacy curtains set up around them, but only one in the area Pomfrey had described, and I headed straight for that one, my heart thudding hard against my ribs.

I reached the curtains, paused to take a deep breath, then drew them apart and went in.

That deep breath stuck in my throat when I saw him. He didn't look small or particularly weak lying there, like you sometimes read about invalid people looking. Nor did he look dead.

He just seemed so incredibly… tired.

This was a very scary state to see him in, indeed, especially if you knew Sirius like I did. Sirius Black didn't get tired. The amount of energy that boy housed in his single, beautiful body could power a small country. Sirius Black got bored, languorous, lazy, tir_ing_… never tired.

His eyes were closed, but I saw the bruised-purple rims under his lashes and the faint blue veins on his lids. His lips were too pale, as was the rest of his face, and even his hair seemed to be exhausted—it lay, for once, neat and arranged against his skull, not sticking up anywhere, no foreign objects tangled in it, no messy locks flopping over one eye.

Pomfrey's doing, I thought vaguely, in disgust.

I reached out and immediately mussed up the soft black hair with my fingers. It did help a bit, though he still looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

The other three came in behind me just as I'd finished doing this, and I was glad I had when I noticed James' expression of wary uncertainty upon seeing his best friend like this. Sirius having tidy hair might have undone him altogether.

"What did Snivellus hit him with?" Peter breathed in horrified astonishment, voicing the question we were all asking ourselves, among others.

"I don't know," said Remus quietly, a deep groove between his brows, voicing the only answer we were able to come up with.

The worst was the not knowing. But at least we knew he was still alive and whole, and probably going to stay that way at least for the next twenty-four hours. Relief was immeasurable and it kept coming.

I reached out again, rubbing the pad of my thumb along his lower lip. I didn't like how pale it was and thought doing so might bring back some colour, as if I could wipe away this dull, washed-out mask that simply wasn't Sirius.

He opened his eyes, and those… those were his.

He said nothing, just smiled exhaustedly, nipped lightly at my thumb, and welcomed us all towards him by doing nothing more than waking up.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: This'll Go Great With My New Piercing**

It was late that same night—though it felt like a week had passed—and I was in the Head Girl's room, of all places.

Lily had come to find me up in the hospital wing, looking a bit awkward but prim as ever, to remind me that our tutoring session was tonight. I hadn't wanted to go, as I was the only one currently up there with Sirius, but he'd jokingly insisted that despite his paralysing fear of the dark and lack of cuddly stuffed animals to keep him company, he reckoned he'd be all right on his own until morning.

I was surprised, though oddly relieved, when Lily led me right past the library and we continued on upstairs. The last thing I wanted to do was study, but it might be a tad more bearable in a more relaxed and comfortable setting.

Aubrey was already there when we entered Lily's private room (huh… it was really bloody nice in here actually; perhaps being Head Girl had its advantage after all) and when she looked up from her textbook and spotted me there, her huge dark eyes instantly filled with tears and she leapt away from Lily's desk, launching herself at me.

"Remus Lupin told me what you did for me, and it's so awful what happened to your boyfriend, I can't believe you'd all do something like that _for me_, I don't deserve… oh, but thank you!" she howled, her voice muffled by my neck, her arms clutching round my ribs so tightly they all but creaked.

I patted her on the back, managing to wheeze out, "'Welcome."

She let go, backing away and turning red (actually, it would be more unusual and worth mentioning to say "Aubrey turned pale") and said, uncharacteristically stern, "You shouldn't have done that."

"I know," I said, with utter sincerity. "I wish we never had. There were better ways to teach him a lesson. We could have reported him for roughing you up, we—"

It was then I became aware of an odd squeaking, gasping noise behind me, and I twisted round in astonishment to stare at Lily, who was clutching her bedpost for support and silently laughing so hard tears were trickling from the corners of her eyes.

She held up a thick, glossy paper wordlessly, as if in explanation for her curious behaviour, shoulders still trembling with what was rapidly developing into an all-out belly laugh.

"You…" she gasped breathlessly between gales of cackling laughter, "…you have to… hahahaaha… admit that it…it was really… hahahahaaa… bloody… funny!"

I snatched the paper from her hand, and turned it over to see what it was.

Snape's face, abnormally blissful and relaxed, stared back up at me with a slightly dim expression (the effect of being unconscious, I thought.) On his head sat crookedly a gold-paper crown, emblazoned across which were the words: "King of Stupid Tits." Rather well-drawn, with admittedly excellent penmanship (Sirius had done a top job, though there had been no need to tell him so, thereby inflating his already sizeable ego), was a speech bubble next to Snape's mouth that declared, "Bow to me, Reigning Patriarch of my fellow tits, and Snogger of my own Greasy, Poofter's Arse. Mudbloods beware, for I may sully your sanguineous impurities with my own lunacy. Merlin forbid."

And directly behind him, stuck to the wall and revealed in the remaining two inches or so of empty frame, was a large portrait of Snape himself rolling and flailing about in a puddle of slimy brown mud, and several witches and wizards (clearly Muggleborn, telling by their attire) staring at him with pitying expressions on their faces and backing away slowly. On one of the wizard's t-shirts, barely distinguishable but yet another of Sirius' ingenious additions, was the slogan, "Say NO to demonic possession."

Underneath was a picture of the Grim.

I choked on a sob, my throat seizing up and vision blurring suddenly. Rigid fingers crumpling the edges of the photograph, I made a determined effort to push back the tears, and it only took about ten seconds for me to succeed.

"Well," I said, turning round to face the other two with a falsely bright and cheery smile—one that wobbled only a little— "I think we got our point across quite clearly, eh?"

Aubrey put an arm around me while Lily, looking very solemn now, took a large stack of photos from her bureau drawer, and we watched on as she systematically torched the lot.

That had been over two hours ago, and though the acrid smell of smoke still lingered in the air, I was doing my best to think of anything else besides Sirius—or Snape, for all that, and what I was going to do to him once we met face to face again. This was no longer a matter of principal, or a moral issue. This was personal; this was war.

"You look a bit mad," Lily remarked, returning from walking Aubrey back to her dorm. "Crazy-like." She twirled a finger next to her temple and rolled her eyeballs to illustrate.

I barely heard her. "James told me he thinks he's at fault for what happened," I said aloud, my voice sounding hollow and foreign to my own ears. "He told me he shouldn't have said anything to goad Snape on, he should have just hexed him, clean and simple. He said it's because of him that Sirius almost… it's because of him."

"And is it?" Lily wanted to know, sliding down the edge of the bed to settle on the floor next to me.

I looked at her. "Maybe," I decided, after a moment. "James didn't curse Sirius. It wasn't his wand that performed the spell, he never said the words. But yes, maybe he is a little bit at fault. No more than I am, though."

Her brows rose, curving like ruby question marks. "What in heaven's name did _you_ do to make Snape hit Sirius Black with such a Dark spell?"

"I had a big hand in getting those pictures made. If I'd not done my part, I can't see how they'd have managed it otherwise. And it was the photos that drove Snape over the edge; you saw him."

"The way I look at it," Lily began slowly—and I listened more carefully, because for all her other various misgivings, she could usually be counted on for a bit of comforting logic in times of uncertainty— "is that Sirius Black can be a very irritating sort of person."

I blinked. "I fail to see your point."

"Well, he was bound to make Severus angry enough to hex his balls off at some point, wasn't he? Lucky it happened when it did, with so many capable teachers and medical help at hand."

Lily Evans was looking on the bright side of things. Assuming I hadn't, in fact, finally and completely lost it, I could have sworn she was being openly optimistic.

And _not by accident._

When had my life decided to turn itself upside-down? And without my express permission, too. Inconsiderate prig, my life.

"Sirius Black nearly died this morning," she went on philosophically, ignoring the funny choking sound I made. "I recognised that spell Severus used, no idea how he could have possibly learnt it without someone purposely teaching it to him, and who would give a seventeen-year-old boy that kind of destructive power? Anyway, my point is that, now he's been exposed, I think they'll be watching him a lot closer from here on in. And so will I. So if he tries anything, expect to see him end up on the fast train to Azkaban." Lily smiled happily at the thought. "Hell, I'll be his send-off. We could make a banner."

I stared at her in incredulous silence for a long moment, before dropping my head on her shoulder and shutting my eyes in a silent, weary gesture of gratitude.

There was one advantage to the world as I knew it going completely off-kilter. It made Lily Evans start off on a vendetta I could really get behind. I was feeling incredibly low and down in the dumps after what had happened to Sirius (after all, Reality wasn't a very enjoyable stranger to be forced to suddenly become acquainted with), but female solidarity and naughty little gits getting their comeuppance and—most importantly—quite a lot of potential to witness a thorough arse-kicking, were all my idea of the upside of being down.

Feeling like total rubbish, Sirius and the rest of us may be; fucked, we were not.

The week following went by both in a blurred series of events, and at an agonisingly slow drag. Lessons were a joke; even my Arithmancy course couldn't capture my total attention, as it had so easily before. Ackerman had looked personally affronted when he'd inquired of me the third Miserian Theory in relation to linear spells, and my reply had been an exhausted, "Oh, who bloody _cares_?"

Tutoring was in all probability the only time I actually learned anything, because Lily and Aubrey seemed to have taken it upon themselves to be my keepers, and neither would take any of my shit, which was a bit disconcerting to me, but probably good for me in the long run.

I even managed to pass a Charms test Tuesday morning, about which Remus, James and Peter (who still didn't know about my tutoring) couldn't quite understand why I was so happy, but they were nevertheless properly congratulatory.

My improved mood was not to last, however. I, along with James, Remus, Peter and several others, were pulled out of class during the last period of the day to Dumbledore's office, where we were asked to make signed statements as to the occurrences of yesterday morning, through our own eyes. The Headmaster seemed calm and pleasant as ever, but it was my only visit to his office that I could recall where I was in and out in less than ten minutes—no idle chatter, no subtle jabs; no admonishing words, even.

I scribbled out my version of events quickly, stony-faced but steady-handed, scrawled my signature on the bottom, then handed the parchment to him, finishing just after Remus. After that, it was "Thank you and goodbye" and we all left to return to our classes. I didn't know what was to become of Snape, but I thought I spotted him in the halls between classes one afternoon, so I could only assume Lily hadn't yet gotten her wish.

And I'd been so looking forward to making that banner.

Most of my free time was spent with Sirius in the infirmary. He seemed suitably pleased to see me each time I came in—especially when I'd brought food—, but it was on Thursday night that I realised maybe I wasn't the best company at the moment—what with the stress and the unresolved anger and guilt—and pressing myself on him when he was injured and therefore unable to run away was perhaps a bit unfair.

This became apparent to me when James and Peter decided to stand guard outside the hospital wing, and refused to let me enter— "As per Padfoot's request that he have one night without an hysterical female for company."

I was not exactly warmed to hear such a thing spoken in reference to my own (entirely non-hysterical, I assure you) person, but they refused to budge, and anyway, if Sirius didn't want to see me, the bugger could bloody well rot for all I cared.

I ended up having quite a lot of fun with Aubrey that night (Lily had rounds, but was also avoiding James, who had taken to following me now that he knew I was getting chummier with the love of his life and had indeed asked me to see if I couldn't "put in a good word" for him with her. Shameless arse.)

Saturday night, Sirius was released from Madam Pomfrey's care, and I went to bed early rather than participate in the celebrations the lads had planned (I was still a little tetchy about Sirius' refusal to see me the night before, even if Lily _had_ pointed out that I'd been acting like a co-dependant saddo.)

(Which was a total lie.)

Though I was unsure of the exact time, I was awoken during the night by someone climbing into bed with me. I couldn't see a thing, but even groggy and disoriented, I recognised his smell, wintry and faintly electric.

Sirius slid under the blankets, his body warm against my back, and gathered me close with both arms. He was fully-clothed, but I was aware of every line of his body, much as I tried not to be.

I didn't move, and we were both silent for so long, I thought he must have just fallen asleep. His fingers, curled lightly against my ribs, were warm and very distracting through the thin material of my t-shirt, even though they stayed perfectly still. My chest felt oddly constricted and soothed at the same time, but I never once thought of making him leave. The remorse was still a bit too overpowering for that.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into the darkness, at the same time that he pressed his mouth to the back of my neck and murmured the same words.

Rolling over to face him, his arms still encircling me, I rested my head in the crook of his shoulder, hooked his leg with my knee, and then closed my eyes, breathing him in, with the intention of going right back to sleep.

He kissed me after a moment, just a soft, warm pressure of his lips, and rested his forehead against mine. His breath tickled the sensitive skin between my lower lip and chin, and I tilted my face downward so that the ridge of my brow rested there instead.

"Guess what?" he whispered, and I felt him sift his fingers through my hair.

"What?" I whispered back, my mouth curling against his collarbone.

"You smell good."

My lips twitched and I made a soft humming noise, letting my tongue dip into the hollow at the base of his throat; I broke out into a full-blown smile when his breathing snagged. Slanting my head, I scraped my teeth along the side of his neck, over the vein that stood out slightly in relief there, and pressed myself closer to him when he shivered convulsively.

"Guess what? You taste pretty good," I returned, my voice low.

Sirius shifted abruptly so that I was sprawled on top of him. His mouth lifted to meet mine, open and hot, when I lowered my head to capture it. The heat spread immediately from my middle all the way down to my toes, and up to my cheekbones, suffusing my skin so that I felt consumed by it. I loved this sudden heightening of the senses, the way every nerve-ending caught fire. And I loved how it had only ever been this way with him.

After a week like the one just passed, I was eager, by rights, for a bit of a break; with Christmas fast approaching, I was having some trouble containing my impatient excitement for the hols.

The stress wasn't over yet, however. It was full moon tonight, and with Sirius out of the hospital wing, the lads were planning as ever to embark on one of their traditional "forays into the wild". I tried to dissuade Sirius from going, because he wasn't quite at his best yet—something made obvious last night, when I only tried to prop myself up with a hand on his chest and he made a sound like wounded animal—and yes, I did consider the fact that I was simply a fat cow and had crushed his liver or some other crucial organ with my immense bulk, but I'd done that plenty of times before (put my weight on his chest, I mean, not crush his organs) and he'd never reacted _that_ way before.

But when I pointed this out to him—with perfect rationality and tact—he just looked at me like I had at last gone round the twist, and said, "They need me with them."

And so that was the end of that.

Remus was looking off all day, his skin seeming more tightly stretched over his bones; his movements jumpier and yet somehow more fluid; his eyes more yellow than gold. It was fascinating to witness, but you couldn't help wondering the sorts of things going through his mind leading up to the transformation.

Was he scared, even after so many years? Did he still dread the pain of bones and joints and tendons shifting and breaking and re-knitting, the all-over itch of coarse, sprouting fur, the terrible, mad knowledge of what was happening to him, yet again?

He had told me once, when we were younger, what it felt like to become the wolf, and even then I think he was almost sugar-coating it a bit, for my sake. It was just one of many reasons I loved Remus Lupin: even when he was cursed with such a life-altering burden, and had every right to be bitter and hateful towards the world in general, he took into consideration other people's sensitivities.

Usually on the day of the full-moon, he and I would spend a few hours alone together, as the lads would have him all night, and I wanted him to myself for a little while. He'd said once that being with me before helped to calm him, and I had never forgotten that, nor the way him admitting to something like that had made me feel.

Today, we were out by the lake, bundled up in cloaks, boots, mitts, hats—the whole shebang, as it was bloody freezing. We had spread thick, woollen blankets on the hard, frozen ground, cast a few Heating Charms, broke out the hot chocolate, and settled in for an afternoon of it.

On the day of the full moon, Dumbledore always fully relieved Remus of his prefect duties, and I knew he was looking forward to a day of leisure and enjoyment before his own personal hell set in—a description that was fairly accurate, though James liked to refer to it simply as Remus' "furry little problem." I thought this might be avoiding the issue a bit, but was nonetheless surprisingly thoughtful of my thick-headed-by-reputation cousin.

In the case of emotional issues anyway. His marks were certainly decent enough.

"You didn't put milk in this, did you?" I asked, sniffing my mug and letting the steam warm the tip of my numbed nose.

"Of course not, it's all dark chocolate. Sirius tried to add a bit of, er… something else to it, but no milk ever got past my watchful eye," he assured me, leaning comfortably back against our tree trunk.

I settled back also, satisfied with his answer, and proceeded to scald my tongue blissfully with the first sip.

Eyes watering, I glanced over and saw that Remus had closed his own, a thoroughly peaceful expression on his face.

"Oi, Remus, you haven't gone and died on me, have you?" I demanded, only half-joking, nudging his ankle with my foot (after what had happened to Sirius, my thoughts had turned a bit morbid and pessimistic of late.)

The corner of his mouth twitching upwards told me otherwise. "No, I—ahhh…" His face suddenly became drawn, as if he was in a great deal of pain, and he went sort of rigid, the groove between his brows deepening.

Despite my knowledge that he often got pangs or echoes of what was to come in the hours before moonrise, I couldn't help the jolt of fear and the concern in my voice when I reached out and said, "Remus?"

"F-Fine," he said, his voice a bit unsteady. I could see him visibly reigning his composure back in, and he repeated, his tone much firmer, "I'm fine. Just… you know."

"Okay…" I leaned slowly back against the tree, my gaze trained on him, and asked instead conversationally, "So how's the whole prefect thing working for you?"

He laughed, sounding surprised and delighted at the same time, and I was pleased to see the lingering pain ease away from his features.

In our fifth year, when Remus had first been made a prefect, we had all given him a hard time for being a traitor and for "going over to the other side." He had assured us that he most definitely had not, that we were being ridiculous, and he was still our friend, even if he meant to take this responsibility bestowed upon him seriously.

For the first month or so, none of us were really sure _what_ to think, afraid to do any rule-breaking in case Remus decided to snitch on us after all. For all that first month, every morning or at some point in the day, one of us would ask dubiously, "How's the whole prefect thing working for you?" And he would always reply—

"Don't worry, I haven't thrown you to the wolves yet."

"Good." I returned Remus' grin, then sipped some more hot chocolate, feeling all of the sudden completely relaxed and content. "Remus?"

"Tia."

"Have I ever told you I… well, that you mean quite a lot to me?"

He looked over, surprise registering in his eyes beneath the wool cap he wore, which had caused wispy, light-brown hair to scatter over them. Then he gave me a crooked, pleased sort of smile and said, slowly, "You haven't. But I think I've always known."

"Oh. Because you do. Mean a lot to me, I mean. All you lads do."

He nodded, gazing off at the black, smooth-as-glass surface of the frozen lake with a serene expression.

I waited a moment, my heart beating a little fast. When he said nothing, I nudged him with an elbow and prompted, "Well?"

He glanced at me in curiosity. "Well, what?"

I blinked—at the shock of how much it hurt to put your heart on the line and then have it go completely unacknowledged like that. Remus—of all people—I'd thought—fuck.

"Never mind," I muttered, setting aside my mug and starting to get up, my face burning with anger and embarrassment. I had only just rolled up onto my knees when his hands closed around my wrist. It was—as always—very warm, and I could feel his body heat through my sleeve.

"Tia—"

"No, don't worry about it," I told him quickly, trying to sound off-hand and failing horribly when my voice trembled childishly.

His fingers tightened a fraction and it felt like he barely had to pull at all before I'd toppled back over and he had risen to his own knees to grip my shoulders and stare directly into my eyes. His look was gentle, but intense, in that way that was unique to Remus Lupin. So many things were.

"You want me to say it back, is that it?" he asked, voice soft with an odd, underlying fierceness that made the fine hairs on my forearms rise as I shivered irresistibly.

I shrugged sulkily and mumbled something noncommittal.

"I won't say it back, Tia, because it's not what I feel. You don't 'mean quite a lot to me'," he went on, effectively throwing the words back in my face, with sudden, simple cruelty.

I blinked again, my lips parting on an expelled, shocked breath, as if he'd just punched me in the stomach. I wouldn't have been able to say anything if I'd wanted to. What the hell was he doing? Remus wasn't like this; even on full moon, my Remus _wouldn't_—

"James and Sirius are best friends," he continued, in that same even, determined tone—and going rather off topic, if you asked me. "I'm very close to them both, but I can never have what they've got together. I'll never quite belong to that, have as much a part of that as they do. And Peter idolises James. He's a good friend, too, but if he had to choose between us, well… it's not much of a contest, is it?"

I was silent and still staring, utterly confused at this point.

He wasn't finished, though. His eyes, that oddly beautiful yellow that I still wasn't accustomed to after so many full moons, flickered over my face, then settled on my own gaze again, softened this time; his fingers digging into my shoulders were as unyielding as ever, though.

"But you, Tia," he continued, almost urgently, "you're just you; untouched, unclaimed. Sirius' girlfriend, James' cousin, Peter's mate to muck about with. But you're still just Tia, and you have never been anything else in my eyes. I love you, which goes a bit beyond 'meaning quite a lot' to me, I think."

I goggled at him, mouth now hanging wide open, feeling totally blown away by this unexpected admission. It was nearly a full minute before I was able to find my voice (even if it was more than a bit shaky and hardly sounded like mine.)

"You're… you're in _love_ with me?" I squeaked in disbelief.

It was his turn to gape in shock. "In—in love with you? No! I said I love you, not that I'm… interested in you romantically." He blushed at the very idea.

"Oh. _Oh_." I blushed also, experiencing an oddly pleased, sort of squishy feeling inside. "Well. In that case, I love you too. That's sort of what I meant before, when I said… that thing… er… well, now you've made it sound really stupid," I finished, breathless with exasperation.

"Insignificant," he corrected, almost reflexively.

"Yeah," I responded dryly. I deflated suddenly, a relieved grin blooming on my face. "Shitting arse _fuck_, Lupin, you scared the hell out of me. Imagine telling Sirius that one of his best mates fancies me in a serious way."

Remus laughed, clearly relieved as well after having got that settled and off his chest. "Er… no, I'd like to keep my teeth where they presently are, thanks anyway."

A short while later, it had gotten quite a bit colder, and the air held a comfortable, cosy sort of silence, as if it were thicker than usual.

Remus and I opted to move away from the lake, as the wind coming off it was bitterly cold and getting to be a bit much, its slick surface acting as a sort of slipstream generator, with us caught in the middle of it.

I suggested, genius that I was, that we move higher up in the already frigid atmosphere (though for his part, Remus didn't exactly veto this idea.)

Thus, we ended up on the very top of Gryffindor Tower, having "borrowed" a pair of brooms from the school games shed by way of great stealth and sneakiness (i.e., I distracted Hagrid with my dazzling wit and incredible good looks, while Remus made off with the broomsticks and then hid in the outer-edge of the forest to wait for me.)

Once again bundled in our blankets, Heating charms doubled and with an ever-replenishing supply of hot chocolate at hand, we chatted happily and aimlessly as another hour passed.

"I've decided to tell my mum I want an electric guitar for Christmas," I announced, through the small hole I'd left in my cocoon of blankets so that just my nose and mouth were exposed. I took a sip of chocolate, quite proud of the little set-up I had going.

"Tia," Remus said, his tone extremely bland. "You are tone-deaf. In fifth year, you accidentally handed in Octavia Perks' sheet-music for your Arithmancy homework. And you once asked Professor McGonagall if she thought the whole 'different keys thing' was really that necessary. One was more than enough to do the job, you said."

I sipped again, with perfect propriety to show just how unaffected I was to hear that other people had, in fact, heard about that little momentary intellectual lapse of mine, in my fifth year. McGonagall still sniggered a bit whenever she bolted or unlocked a door.

"Yes, well. Obviously I won't actually attempt to play it. But I just want to see the look on Dad's face when I open it Christmas morning and say, 'Wicked! This'll go great with my new piercing.' And we shall sit back and take bets on which vein in his forehead pops first."

My father, with his Irish temper and rather overprotective nature, could be more than sufficient entertainment for an otherwise dull holiday. Mum and I often had a laugh at his expense, though I was fairly certain—fairly—that he knew it was all in good fun. He hadn't booted me out of the house yet, at any rate.

"You are a diabolical and patricidal child," Remus informed me and, ploughing right over my delighted cackles with a contradicting gleam in his eye, went on, "No, I'm completely serious. I really do think you will end up nowhere good. Fifteen years from now, I can see you in either the gaol or dead from finally having consumed your own weight in chocolate."

"Oh, you're one to talk, Remus Lupin. We get the same order from Honeyduke's every month, and who is it always ends up having to give the rest of hers away to Peter because she can't eat it all herself? The answer is me, Remus, because you are not a 'she'. However, if you've been keeping something from me for seven years and are indeed a she, then now is the time to confess the truth, when it would be convenient to push me off the Tower and have the double advantage of relieving yourself of a terrible secret and silencing your sole witness forevermore."

Remus stared at me for a long moment with an incredulously appalled sort of expression, then reached over and slowly but firmly pried the mug from my gloved fingers. "You are not to have any more chocolate. From this point on, you are _cut off_. If I hear that you have had more, I will track you down and quote Shakespeare at you. In a clippy, stuck-up accent. Is that what you want, Tia? Do you want to bring that upon yourself?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You wouldn't dare. You know I can't stand 'Hamlet' in a clippy accent, if you dared t—oi! Don't dump it, I haven't finished dr—"

"'Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month, or ere those—'"

"Aaagh! Shut up! Bugger, all right, _have_ the sodding chocolate. I don't care if you… you—what—Remus, is it _snowing_?" I pushed back my makeshift hood to get a better look at the sky, which did indeed seem to be a sudden swirling grey mass of fluffy, pristine flakes.

He smiled. "It looks that way."

I threw aside the folds of my blanket and stood up, face upturned to catch the first of the lazily descending flakes on my nose. A silly grin spread across my face.

"It _is_ snowing! I didn't realise it was supposed to today, or I'd have brought more blankets."

Remus had stood up as well, his hands in his pockets, looking pleased with my reaction to the abrupt change in weather. "I could sort of tell it was coming. You know, because of full moon. As it gets nearer I can almost feel in my bones all the subtle changes, the way the sky moves, like a tugging, a light sort of pressure… and now I sound even more out of my mind than you do."

I shook my head, smiling at him over my shoulder as the snow continued to fall. "I believe you. And I think I understand. This is really wonderful, Remus, thank you."

He shrugged, seeming a bit uncomfortable now. "It's not as if I can control the weather. I just thought you might like to be out here when the first snow came, instead of stuck inside the Three Broomsticks or someplace."

"You thought right. It's beautiful, isn't it? I know I'm going to hate it once it melts a bit and makes a slushy mess of the grounds, but now, when it's still all white and clean… Sirius will want to have a snow-fight, I expect." I wrinkled my nose, secretly not really minding the idea, but imagining the state I'd been in afterwards, and wondering if James was planning to use his broom and Chaser skills in another blatant display of unashamed and unsportsmanlike cheating, same as last year.

If such was the case, then Sirius was definitely on my team, and he was definitely using his Beater's bat for like purposes.

Satisfied with this decision, I lowered myself down and settled back against the over-hanging Tower wall, gathering my blanket about me again. When Remus did the same, I shifted and laid my head on his thigh, so that I could continue looking up at the snowy sky, not minding when the flakes caught in my eyelashes and brows, and then melted, soaking them with cold water that dripped into my eyes and trickled down my temples into my hair.

I thought of the lads out in the snow tonight, with Sirius not quite healed, and Peter, small as he was in Animagus form, all of them in the bitter cold—for surely the temperature would drop even further than this once the sun had set, and without these extra Heating charms.

I knew it was futile to try and argue against them going—and I also hadn't the heart to convince them all to stay behind, leaving Remus alone tonight—but the worrying didn't stop. Even if they'd proven time and time again they were quite capable of taking care of themselves, there was still the odd, irrefutable occasion when they'd managed to fuck it up royally, and these were usually the thoughts running through my mind over and over when they went out on full moon, rather than their far more numerous successful "nature romps".

"You lot be careful tonight, eh?" I pleaded, turning my head a fraction to look up at the underside of Remus' nose. Though a bit red from the cold, it was tidy like the rest of him, and I was gladly spared from viewing anything I'd have rather not seen.

His lips twitched, and he leaned his head back against the over-hang. "Well…" He sighed deeply. "I won't say I'll try, because, let's face it—I'll be having far too much fun to think about caution." His tone was self-deprecating and ironic all at once; once again in that so-very-Remus way.

I wished he wouldn't do that, but I laughed like I knew he wanted for me to do, and replied, "Ah yes, but you're the responsible one, Remus—you've got to keep those hairy beasts in check. God knows what kind of dangerous shite they'd get into without you around."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: An Olive Branch Never Tasted So Good **

"Tia, I swear to God, if you don't stop pacing this minute, I will tie you to your chair."

I stopped mid-stride, slumping slightly, and wheeled round to face an exhausted Lily. "I haven't got a chair. You are _sitting_ in the only chair," I pointed out; with rationality that was rather surprising when you considered how completely irrational I was currently feeling.

"In that case, I shall get up, wrestle you into submission—and don't believe for one second that you'd win, because I've got both the height advantage and extreme annoyance on my side—and, that done, will tie you to _this_ chair."

"James hid the map," I whined, ignoring her. "The bugger _knew_ I wanted it—just for a casual, perfectly healthy peep every now and then—and now he's gone and hidden it, because he hates me."

"No," Lily disagreed, wearily. "He hid it because he knew—and rightly so—that you would worry yourself sick over he and the rest of them, and that it probably isn't the best idea for you to know what they're doing, anyway."

"I am neither worried, nor sick, and so I spit on your theory. He _hates_ me, he believes me completely mad and silly, and I will not stand for it. D'you know that I caught him and Sirius trying to slip me a Sleeping Draught before they left, so I'd just wake up tomorrow morning, well-rested and none-the-wiser?"

"Brutish fiends, the lot of them."

"So you see it too." I glanced distractedly round Lily's dimly-lit dorm. "Where's Aubrey gone?"

"She's passed out underneath that lamp-table, there. Which reminds me—was it really necessary to let her drink half that unmarked bottle she found in your wardrobe?"

"How was I to know it was firewhisky? And besides, it isn't my bottle, it's Sirius'—I remember he hid it there when McGonagall was doing the routine checks of their dorm last year; he must have forgotten about it." I was thoughtful for a moment, then shook my head to clear it. "Anyway, I think she's beginning to develop a taste for drinking. Bit of an amateur, yet, but getting along well enough."

"You sound proud. Tia, that is not the sort of thing to be _proud_ of."

"Oh, hush. Now where's she put that bottle, I need something to distract me…"

I dropped to my knees beside the bed and began to search under it for the firewhisky—not my usual choice, but it would do in a pinch.

"I've got it here," Lily answered briskly, and I heard the musical swish-and-tinkle of liquid contained in glass.

My head came up from beneath the bed and saw that she was indeed holding the aforementioned bottle by the neck. I blew a dust-bunny off my nose, pushed a hand through my hair and got to my feet."

"Thanks, hand it over please."

She did without protest. I was a little surprised at that, but nonetheless took it gratefully when offered and removed the cork, placing the rim of the bottle to my lips and tilting it back. The smoking, amber liquid splashed the inside of my mouth and back of my throat, searing it on the way down and creating a path of fire through my chest before the heat pooled in my stomach (eating away at the lining, I was sure.) It burned like holy hell, and tasted oddly and disgustingly of feet (I couldn't recall it ever having been that awful, before…), but I felt the alcohol go to my head almost immediately, and was satisfied.

I coughed wheezily as soon as I got my breath back and croaked to Lily, "That is bloody horrid. And you say Aubrey got down _half_ this thing?"

Lily seemed a bit shifty. "Well, nearly. But, er… I suppose she drank it a bit… weaker."

"Like with tonic water, you mean? I haven't got any… any…"

Something wasn't right. The firewhisky was hitting me ridiculously hard—every movement felt as though I was wading through over-cooked porridge, and the room was spinning dangerously. There were currently three—no, four now—Lilys watching me apprehensively.

She took a step forward and the world tilted distressingly. She half-caught me before I hit the floor, then hauled me gracelessly on to the bed, lifting my legs after me so I was sprawled out on the bedspread. My vision was dimming at the edges and blurring alarmingly, while a warm, cosy peace had stole over my limbs and mind.

Sluggishly, realisation dawned: I was being unjustly ganged up against.

"It's for your own good," I heard Lily's voice say—sounding both apologetic and about five octaves too deep.

"Fucking hehhnngh…" was the last thing my thickened tongue managed before I slipped into comfortable, enveloping darkness.

"…awww… she's quite adorable when she sleeps, don't you think? I mean, apart from the drool and scary hair. Aww…"

"Padfoot, quit petting my cousin and help me get her out of bed. Class starts in twenty minutes, and if she's late she'll really have reason to kill us."

"I… er… okay. You take her feet, I've got her shoulde—aaaghnnkg!"

"What? What did you—"

"Bugger shit fuck! Ahh… nothing, my ribs are still… nothing."

"Well, don't let Tee hear you say that, or she'll be all 'I bloody told you so, didn't I?' and you'll never have a moment's peace after."

"It wouldn't hurt so badly if you hadn't stepped on me. _Twice_. Stupid prat with your stupid big hooves."

"It was _dark_ and your fur is _dark_. Besides, I didn't mean to."

"I'll believe that when I hear you say you're sorry."

"I am sorry. Your bloody squishy dog-self made me turn an ankle. I've got a limp now. How am I supposed to win Evans' heart with a limp?"

"Maybe she likes the gimpy sort. Or, better yet, you could get an eye-patch and a parrot and start demanding to be called Funny-Walk Potter, the most fearsome and ruthless pirate of all the seven seas. We could write you a theme song."

"Paddlebrains?"

"Yes, O Fearsome and Ruthless One?"

"That is an _excellent_ idea."

"Well of course it—"

"Haven't you two got her _yet_? What's taking so long? Lily's waiting with her clothes and Peter's already found an antidote potion."

"Hello, Moony. You've got arms, haven't you?"

"Er… yes, that is what we traditionally call these long bendy things sticking out of my shoulders."

"Spiffing. That means you'll be able to help Prongs carry her down."

"…Paddlebrains?"

"Yes, O Sturdy and Armed One?"

"She bloody told you so, didn't she?"

"Oh don't _you_ start."

I came fully awake in the middle of my first-period Potions class and lifted my head to see Slughorn's enormous thatched moustache twitching in disapproval down at me.

"Miss Evans tells me you have suffered a great personal tragedy?" he boomed gruffly, then looked to my left and his surly expression turned affectionate.

I groggily followed his gaze and saw, with a certain amount of surprise, Lily sitting next to me, her cauldron bubbling merrily as she sang under her breath—the words sounded suspiciously like, "_Go along with iii-it!_"

"Er…" I shoved my hair out of my eyes, blinking several times to clear my vision as I straightened up, leaning away from our worktable. What in hell was going on? Why was I here?

I cleared my throat, as my voice was a bit thick with sleep, and said bewilderedly, "I have?"

Lily stomped my foot under the table and I jumped in pain, only half-hearing Slughorn continue speaking.

"Yes, she tells me a dear member of your family has been gravely injured? And that is why you were sleeping, because you had been up all night grieving."

I blinked again. And then, like a rush of clarity, I remembered.

Twisting round in my seat, I saw James gazing, spellbound and moony, at the back of Lily's head with his chin propped in his hand, while Remus tried frantically to keep their cauldron from boiling over.

"Oh, right," I said slowly, turning to face my professor again while doing my best to appear devastated. "Yes, somebody has been hurt rather badly." _Or will be_.

"I'm sorry to hear it, Miss Spencer. Terrible thing. But with Miss Evans as your partner, I don't think you'll have to worry about doing too poorly in class today, eh?" He winked proudly in Lily's direction, then went off.

The minute he was out of ear-shot, my head whipped round to glare at Lily. "Traitor!" I hissed. "You're all in cahoots against me, is that it? That was a disgusting violation of my trust, you cow, and now I can never forgive y—"

"Look," she cut me off, rolling her eyes, "they asked me to do it out of concern for you, and I happened to agree with them, so I said I would. What harm did it cause you? You love sleeping almost as much as you love drinking, and that's what you'd have done were it any other night—sleeping, I mean. So don't give me that 'I am so righteously pissed off at you' crap, because I don't want to hear it!"

She was breathing a bit heavily after that little spiel, and I could tell she'd rehearsed it beforehand. That was a bit odd. She normally came up with this rubbish off the top of her head; she was quite good at it, in fact.

I huffed. "It was sneaky and underhanded. You could have said, 'There is a Sleeping Draught in this booze, Tia, which I am fully aware you want to drink' and then forced it down my throat. At least then I'd have known what you were about to do."

"Don't be an idiot," she advised, tipping a measured amount of ground nettles into the cauldron, then slamming down the mortar. "You fight dirty. I've seen you, it's despicable. I'd have lost an eye or something."

"Better an eye than my trust," I returned dramatically.

"Potter warned me you'd react this way," she said, looking up at the ceiling with an all-suffering sigh.

"And I'm not finished reacting, either! You just wait 'til—"

She clapped a hand over my mouth and I squeaked indignantly at the inhumanity of it all. I was just considering biting her when she removed something from her pocket and held it in front of my face.

Gold-and-black label. Swirly letters. The possibility of the words '_almond crème_' and '_pure dark_.' The siren's song of my sweet-tooth.

"You evil, loathsome temptress," I breathed when her hand dropped away, my eyes fixed on the thick bar of Honeyduke's chocolate in front of me.

"An olive branch," she declared, "to show that we meant nothing by sedating you, beyond our own concern that you would make yourself sick by staying up all night, tormented with worry."

I met her gaze then, my brow lifting wryly. "It's only because I care about them. You know that, don't you? They know that?"

She smiled at me suddenly, as if in understanding. "Yes, I think so."

I shook my head slowly, my stomach flipping uncomfortably as I recalled the feeling of mild dread I'd experienced the night before, watching their backs as they climbed through the portrait-hole, laughing and shoving and totally unconcerned about what they were about to do yet again.

"I've heard James say that he thought I might be jealous that they get to go out and I have to stay behind. But that's got nothing to do with it. If it wasn't so risky what they do, I'd only be glad for the break from male company. "

I wasn't entirely sure that they realised just how dangerous everything they'd been doing really was, from the moment they decided to become Animagi. They had offered to help me become one as well, back in fifth year when James had first started getting ideas—they helped Peter; giving me a hand would've been easy. I wasn't total crap at Transfiguration, after all, my Advanced class being clear evidence of the fact. But I'd turned them down, because I was scared and I recognised how much trouble we could get in—and I don't mean just at Hogwarts, or even with the Ministry.

It wasn't that I didn't love a good bit of adventure. I was aiming to become a curse breaker, of all things. But how unsafe was it to mess about with magic most fully-trained wizards couldn't manage?

Lily was regarding me thoughtfully now. "I didn't know that."

My hands were fisted in my lap, and I stared down at them to keep myself from saying too much—the lads would kill me if I told Lily the truth about their being Animagi. If _I_ disagreed with it this much, I could only imagine what she would have to say on the matter.

"I don't… mind that they do it, really. Their hearts are in the right place with it, and it's so good for Remus, you can see how much it helps when he comes back. Their going out with him on… on those nights has only ever bothered me this much because of how easily they could hurt themselves _every time_. And Remus—he'd never forgive himself if he hurt one of them. Never. He wouldn't dream of blaming them for any of it either, and it would tear him apart. They put themselves directly in his path and it would be their fault if anything happened but—"

I stopped abruptly when I realised how high my voice was getting and how fast I was talking. My eyes prickled and I irritably blinked back the tears that wanted to form there, uncurling my fingers because my nails were cutting painfully into my palms.

Lily said nothing, merely tore the wrapping off the chocolate bar, broke off two pieces, and offered one to me.

I accepted it, chewing slowly, and swallowed the smooth, almond flavoured deliciousness to push the lump in my throat back down where it belonged.

"Thanks," I said at length, grudgingly; not sure whether I meant it in regards to something totally apart from the chocolate.

She just grinned, then slid the rest of the bar across the table to me and went back to perfecting the potion that was to be submitted by the two of us at the end of class—to which I'd not contributed a single effort.

Well, hell.

I was starting to learn that, much as she loved to talk, if you wanted to know the real Lily Evans, you paid attention to what she did while her mouth was closed.

My conversation with Lily had put into perspective her and the lads' intentions, so I chose to take the high road and let slip them drugging me without my knowledge the one night a month I wanted to stay awake.

Not to say I actually told any of them that. They all still thought I was angry with them (all except Lily, who I imagine wouldn't have cared much anyway if I were), and I was enjoying watching them squirm every time I entered a room far too much to tell them any different. I'd let them off the proverbial hook soon enough, but for now I would have my fun.

I was due for a turn, in my opinion.

And so it went on until Thursday morning when at last the first sign that the Christmas hols was looming ever nearer arrived in the form of a letter from my parents. James, too, received a several-pages long missive from his own, and we opened them together at the breakfast table the minute they came.

Sirius, who normally would have been right in there reading over my shoulder, was instead eyeing me warily as he kept his distance and spooned treacle onto his porridge.

I ignored him and unfolded the slate-blue paper my mother favoured for her correspondence.

_Dear Modern Career Woman Living in My Daughter's Body_," the letter began, in Mum's neat and precise cursive.

_I realise that you are probably terribly busy, plagued with a longer To-Do list than the Minister for Magic himself. Your time must be extremely precious, or why else would you not have written your father and I in over a month? Indeed, I understand completely, and will therefore keep this short so that you can get on with your all-consuming business, whatever that may be_.

I winced, shifting in my seat a bit guiltily. Mum tended to use irony as a weapon, and she was bloody good at it, too.

_As always, we will be there to meet you at King's Cross Tuesday night, eagerly awaiting the sight of your angelic smile, should you deem us worthy to grace it upon. The holidays are a time for miracles, after all. Aunt Meg and Uncle Robbie will be staying with us this year, since it is our turn to play host (as you are well aware, and so any claim of yours to having some mysterious foreign disease and therefore being unable to leave the castle infirmary will go ignored—don't even bother, dear.)_

_Additionally, a few other relatives will be coming to stay through New Years. It isn't anything to get worked up about; you can remove that horrified expression from your face. However, due to your less-than-subtle comments re the amount of guests we invited last year, your father and I have agreed to allow you to bring a guest of your own. Just one, and do practise some discretion, darling._

_On a parting note, I shall say only this, and then you may return at once to the hectic circus called Your Own Life; your cousin, in an oh-so-dutiful letter to his parents, happened to mention something about you expressing a peculiar and sudden desire to receive a Muggle guitar (one of the loud ones, with a plug; _à la_ The Beatles) for your gift this year. In response to that, your father has written his own brief conclusion (I shall bid you adieu now, and send my love, as I fear he will break the pen.)_

My eyes widened as they raced over the lines following, written in a much bolder and less discreet hand.

**_Portia Catharine Spencer, if you so much as think electric guitar ever again, I can promise you there will be no chocolate torte this year. James also said, in a separate letter to myself, that you wanted a tattoo on your arse and to put a hole through a fair inappropriate part of your body. If I find you've made good on that (and don't think I won't have your mum check once you get here), I am sending you to live with your Aunt Greer in the convent up North. Is that understood? With love,_**

**_-Dad._**

My head came up and I saw James avoiding my eye rather obviously. He was gazing up at the ceiling and humming softly to himself.

My God. I was surrounded by traitors, I realised incredulously.

"Right," said Sirius warily, watching as I slowly stood up, the letter crumpling in my curling fist. "Maybe just sitting there isn't the best plan after all, mate."

James shot me a panicked glance, nodded once, then bolted from the table. I tore off after him, hollering, "You told him _what_? I can't believe you! What'll I do for fun now, eh? Get back here, and I'll show _you_ putting a hole in a fair inappropriate part of your body!"

In the event, James managed to get away without a scratch for lying so shamelessly about me to my farther on the grounds that a) I was so much more mature than he, that I could overlook such a childish display of betrayal; and b) he ran quite a lot faster than me.

That night in the common-room, I sat on the ottoman at the foot of Sirius' chair, glaring sulkily at the flames dancing merrily in the nearby hearth while James sat perched on the arm of the sofa a few feet away, eyeing me circumspectly for any sign of renewed hostility.

Peter was sniggering at the two of us behind his Herbology textbook, while Remus was calmly and industriously finishing his three-and-a-half-foot long Defence essay that I'd yet to start.

"So…" James began, attempting to sound friendly and charming, smiling winningly at me. "Another holiday spent together. Should be a laugh."

I ignored him, clenching my jaw to keep from saying anything too rude.

"I'd rather stick my head in a vat of eels than spend my hols with you, you untrustworthy, false-tongued twat."

Okay, so it slipped out.

Sirius leaned forward in his chair, dropping his chin on the top of my head with a woebegone sigh. He slid his hands up my arms to squeeze my shoulders encouragingly. "If it helps, I'll be there as well. We could draw silly moustaches on him while he sleeps. We could tell your Aunt Meg he got McGoogles pregnant. And then we could all get uproariously pissed on your dad's excellent egg-nog and have a jolly time of it."

"Hang on—what d'you mean, _you_'ll be there? Just assumed you'd be the one I'd invite, did you?" I snapped, twisting in my seat to stare at him in spiteful rage.

Unfazed, he patted my cheek. "Alas, you've forgotten I always stay the hols with James. Where he goes, I go. I'm part of the package, love."

I blinked. Damn it. I _had_ planned to invite Sirius as my guest. Now who would I take, since James had decided to steal my first choice? Stealing, lying… would he cheat on me next?

Neither Remus nor Peter would be able to come. Remus, I knew, was going to Italy with his parents for Christmas, and Peter's mother never let him spend his holidays away from home. What other friends did I have?

There were Lily and Aubrey. That wasn't such a bad idea, actually. Which would I ask, though?

The question, no sooner had it crossed my mind, answered itself in the form of irrefutable logic, my old friend.

If I brought Lily, not only would it make for a good bit of intelligent conversation, but there would be the added advantage of watching James trip over himself trying to impress her. Come to think of it, with the two of them stuck in close quarters, we may not need to get drunk for entertainment after all.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: I Am Downright Indecent **

I was a bit worried that Aubrey may feel left out or take offence if I didn't invite her to come as well, but as it turned out, her family had plans to visit an aunt in Somerset, and so she wouldn't have been able to come anyway. I decided to not mention my own plans beyond, "Oh, you know, family stuff too," because really, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Thus the only obstacle left in inviting Lily was actually _inviting_ her. I chose to go about this in my usual manner with the charming Miss Evans.

Friday's Arithmancy class was as glorious as ever, now that Ackerman seemed sure that I was back to normal (er… back to myself, anyway) and he was no longer casting me wounded looks in between calculating the degenerative half-life of a radioactive Flobberworm.

Glorious. Really.

The bell for lunch went and I quickly gathered my things together, then waited until Lily glanced my way, caught her eye, and signalled for her to come over.

She gestured to her friend to go on without her, then met me by the doorway, a look of ever-present suspicion on her face.

I opened my mouth to begin, but she cut me off with a firm, "No."

I blinked, then scowled. "You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"You've got that determined look on your face, the same one you take on whenever Potter manages to convince you to have a part in another of his asinine schemes to get me to go out with him. And the answer is, as always, _no_," she concluded, with evident agitation.

I cocked a brow.

"I'll be sure to let him know. Incidentally, I think you should probably steer clear of the fourth floor prefect's bathroom for the next couple of days; James has been spending rather a lot of time lurking about there, and making Remus do research on some of the dodgier Cupidum charms in relation to toilet seats. I will never understand the way that bloke's mind works, I swear. Anyway, that isn't what I wanted to ask you," I finished, dryly.

Her face registered surprise and possibly a touch of confusion before her features rearranged themselves into a mask of polite interest. "Well. Yes?"

"Cracking. Have your things packed and ready for Tuesday morning. I'm allowed to bring a guest for the hols and you, m'dear, are the lucky victim."

She snorted, but regarded me curiously a moment before asking, "I'll have to meet your family, I suppose. And Potter will be there?"

"Yes, and yes, but we can double-check the toilet seats every time you need to use the loo. Or we can always lie and say you're really a Swedish exchange student called Elsa who is both completely androgynous and a lesbian. Shouldn't be too difficult to transfigure your hair and freckles."

She stared at me, then took on an expression that suggested she may be in a certain amount of pain. "I'm not even going to touch on the logic of my lacking in reproductive organs and still having a homosexual orientation… and will instead focus on the fact that you _understand_ and are attempting to _help_. For which I thank you. I think."

"You're welcome. Any other questions, worries, objections?"

"Yes. When you say 'for the hols,' does that include New Years? Because I'm not kissing you at midnight."

"Of course not, you're a female eunuch, it'd be dead boring for you and my renowned snogging talents would go to waste. But yes, it does include New Years. Is that a problem?"

She shrugged. "Only trying to gather information for parental purposes. Still a minor in their eyes, you know. Speaking of—will there be drinking?"

"Lily. I am half-Irish. Contemplate that for a moment, then ask me again if there will be drinking and we'll see how silly you feel."

"No need to be snarky." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Where do you live, then? I'll need to send my parents the address."

I grinned. Ah, sweet success.

We had wandered our way out into the hallway during the course of this conversation, walking along with the other students heading toward the Great Hall for lunch, and as I searched my bag for a bit of scrap parchment and a quill in order to write down my address for her, I heard somebody shout my name, their tone quite distressed.

I looked up and saw Sirius pushing his way through the crowd towards me, an odd, strained sort of expression on his face.

"Is he all right?" Lily asked over her shoulder—I was using her back as a surface on which to write.

"Doesn't look like it," I replied grimly, scribbling out my telephone number as well, as I knew her family were Muggles and so they might want to contact her that way instead. I folded the parchment and handed it to her, and she pocketed it with a murmured, "Thanks," her mildly concerned gaze fixed on a fast-approaching Sirius.

I turned just as he reached my side, standing quite close to me as if he needed the warmth, and his eyes flickered with uncharacteristic uneasiness over at Lily.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered urgently, his fingers closing over my elbow with an almost desperate grip.

Lily said immediately, "I'll see you later, yeah?" and then turned, disappearing into the crowd heading for the stairs.

"Erm… my Arithmancy class is empty," I said, gesturing to a door a short way down the hall.

He nodded once, swallowing hard, and slid his hand down my arm to grip my hand as we hurried back down the hall. His fingers were cold as ice and I absent-mindedly laced mine with his in an attempt to warm them. I couldn't recall ever seeing him this unsettled, except—

"Has something happened to Remus?" I asked, the minute the door was shut behind us. Full-moon had passed, but my suddenly fevered mind was plentiful with unthinkable possibilities at the strange, tortured light in Sirius' slate-grey eyes and what could have caused it. I was surprised to see a brief flash of hurt flit over his countenance.

"What's the matter?" I asked, my eyes widening helplessly.

In one fluid movement, Sirius had switched our positions so his back was against the door, and pulled me against his chest so suddenly and tightly I had to catch my breath.

Asking what was wrong again seemed stupid, but I did anyway, my own arms coming around his waist more slowly.

He still didn't answer, his head bent with his mouth pressed against my shoulder. He just breathed for a moment, then asked quietly, voice slightly muffled, "What are we?"

I blinked, attempting to lean back slightly in order to look at him, but he held fast. Curious as to where this insecurity that was rather out of character for him had come from, I thought about his question a moment. "Well… a couple, I would say, even if we've never made it official with words."

"Is that it, then?" Sirius said, his fingers at my hips digging in almost painfully.

I poked his side. "What do you mean, 'is that it'?"

"We used to be friends, too. You were my girly-mate."

"I didn't realise being your girlfriend cancels out all the rest," I said, my tone gentle but dry.

He was silent for a moment, then, "Do you know why I waited so long to snog you?"

"Because I made you blush and turn into a dithering idiot whenever I came near?" I suggested, then rested my head on his shoulder, deciding I was quite comfortable with this position.

It was his turn to poke me and I felt some of the tension leave him when he exhaled noisily. "Did it show that plainly?" he inquired, mock-aggrieved.

"As day." I lifted a hand to toy with his black silky hair which tickled my neck. "I could practically read your every naughty thought as you gazed covetously upon my gorgeous, unattainable bosom."

He laughed and I knew whatever it was bothering him was all right.

"Didn't think it was funny as all that," I muttered petulantly, though the corner of my lip curled up.

In another thrilling, liquid movement, he abruptly switched our positions again, so that my back was once more facing the door, this time with his body pressed up against mine—all of him.

Well. Hullo, there. Phew… was it getting hot in here?

His eyes, hooded and dark but glinting knowingly, were a few scant centimetres from mine and I had to resist letting myself go cross-eyed in order to see him properly.

"I waited so long to snog you for two reasons," he began, his voice low but matter-of-fact; his lips brushing mine as he spoke, as if by accident. "One, I wanted the moment to be right, because that's how it _should_ be, like in all the books and films and whatever else. And two, there are plenty of girls in the world, but only one girly-mate and I know if I fucked it up, I would _be_ fucked and not in quite the way I had in mind." His breath was feather-light on my face and smelled of toffees (which was somewhat of a bewilderment, as I happened to know he was allergic).

"Nnnyahh," I replied, swallowing deeply, unable to tear my eyes away from the pinkish-reddish blur that was his mouth, so close to mine and yet not bloody close enough. I let out a shaky breath. "Erm… so far so good, eh?"

"I think I'm in love with you," he told me, sounding almost accusatory, and looking more than a little upset about it.

I felt a slow, hot clutching somewhere inside me and my breath expelled in a rush; flashbacks of my afternoon with Remus zipping past in my mind. But Sirius had _said the words_, what else could he possible mean by them? _And_ he was interested in me romantically _and_ I had proof.

A faint tickle of hysteria started at the back of my throat, panic fluttering at the base of my spine and skittering upwards. I did the only thing I could think of.

I burst out laughing—though it sounded high-pitched and not a little mad.

Clutching his shoulders for support, I cackled loudly until tears sprung to my eyes. "HahahaaahaohmyGodyou'reserious," I blurted all in one breath, noticing the wounded look in his eyes with a jolt of shock. The laughter stopped at once.

He stared down at me, brows drawing together, gaze inscrutable. Then, without a word, he tilted his head and crushed his mouth to mine.

My head spun and I leaned into him eagerly and mindlessly, glad for something familiar, for ground we'd walked before, something solid and true. It was all hot, sliding wetness and crashing teeth, and I clung to him, reassuring myself with how real this was, under my hands and pinning me to the door.

His hands lost no time in finding their way under my skirt, sliding past my hips, pulling my robes up and bunching them around my waist; he cupped my bottom and hiked me abruptly upwards, so that his increasingly evident arousal was right between my legs. Feverishly kissing him, fisting my hands in the back of his robes, I hooked an ankle around his waist and pushed on his tailbone so that we came into direct contact but for the barrier of clothing, and he moved slowly, experimentally, both of us moaning breathlessly at the friction.

The fingers of his right hand slipped under the elastic of my knickers, and in a pathetically short amount of time, with pathetically few firm and determined strokes, he had me shuddering and incapable of coherent speech.

Blood wanker with his bloody clever fingers. Surely it wasn't supposed to take so short a t—

"Ohhh God… fuck!"

I rolled my hips in time with the movement of his hand, feeling the delirious mounting pressure already and dizzily panicking now too, because he was in love with me—he _thought_—and he could make me come with so little effort and God, I liked it. I _wanted_ it this way. Ought I to have, though?

His eyes still boring into mine with that restless intensity, he said, a bit hoarsely, "Tia, I love you. Do you know how fucking weird this feels for me? But I do love you, and it hurts sometimes when I think of how much, and I need to know what you feel for me."

I was feeling quite a damn lot just then, but I made myself look at him, made myself breathe—and I panted, sounding choked and utterly exposed, "I've always loved you, you stupid sod. The blushes and dithering every time you came near, the gazing c-covetously upon your bosom—oh, oh fucking God, i Sirius /i !"

And I went blind to everything around me but his eyes, pushing my hips tight against him to prolong the shivery, pulsing heat that speared through me. Then, as that glorious weakness stole over me, I slid down the door, a wide, blissful grin on my face, eyes shut as I savoured the sensation.

When I opened them again, Sirius was still watching me intently, though the glint in his eye had returned.

"I made you blush, did I?" he said, sounding quite smug indeed.

I made a face. "No. Shut up, now, please."

Lifting my mouth to capture his again, I slipped my hand under his jumper and then his waistband to return the favour, and I felt the muscles low in his abdomen ripple and gather together at my touch. With a thrill, I broke the kiss so I could watch his eyes darken and slide out of focus; I was a bit disappointed when he let his head fall back with a groan, propping his hands against the door on either side of my head, and I wasn't able to see his eyes anymore.

At that precise moment, the door at my back swung open. With a shriek, I lost my balance and tumbled gracelessly backwards into the hallway, Sirius landing hard on top of me, causing us both to let out a breathless, "Ooof!"

Blinking my vision free of the stars that had appeared when I hit my head, I cursed in pain then looked slowly up at whoever had caught us… in the act, so to speak.

Lily stood with her hands on her hips next to Remus, both of them looking disparagingly down at us, though the latter's face was stained with colour and he had politely and stubbornly averted his eyes, which were fixed on my forehead.

"You were _taking_ such a very long while," said Lily peremptorily, by way of explanation for her rude intrusion.

"We—aren't—finished—yet," I bit out with careful enunciation, maintaining perfect dignity despite the unimportant fact that my hand was still very much down Sirius' pants and pinned between us.

Sirius, for his part, had propped himself up on his elbows, and was regarding them both with an amiable expression. "D'you know, this sort of situation could be rather embarrassing if we let it."

Remus nodded his agreement, eyes now fixed politely on Sirius' forehead.

"So," Sirius continued reasonably, lifting his hips a bit so that I could remove my hand, and he bit his lip quite hard as I did so, "there's only one s-solution." His voice thickened as he lowered his hips back onto mine, his raging hard-on probably a tad uncomfortable, I thought.

"This is downright indecent," Remus whispered weakly to Lily, who nodded grimly, her own colour a bit high.

"Yes," I agreed with the boy lying on top of me, then tilted my head back to glare upside-down at the two rude Interrupters of Private Moments. "Get out of it."

"I think we will," Lily replied gravely, then turned on her heel and strode purposefully away, Remus following close behind.

"How does skiving off next period sound?" Sirius inquired of me, after a moment.

"I've got it free," I answered.

"Well." He breathed through his nose, his obvious discomfort increasing. "_I_'ll skive off, and _you_ can wait to not do your homework 'til tonight, like the rest of us."

"Black, your brilliance is astounding."

His shoulders slumped, and he dropped his face onto my chest, hips rocking forward once, as if in reflex. "Oh God, then please reward me already before I go mad," he pleaded, his voice muffled and rather adorably desperate.

I giggled. "Off we go, then."

He leapt to his feet, helped me up off the floor, and we ducked into the nearest secret passage, with the intention of finding the shortest route to an empty seventh year dormitory and then, luck providing, shagging like rabbits.

I loathed packing. It was my least favourite part of going home, right down there at the bottom of my list with "_un_packing" and "holiday weight-gain."

My usual method amounted to opening my trunk, taking out everything school-related, then tossing in whatever I thought I might need that I didn't have another one of it home.

If I forgot something… well, I'd survive two weeks without it, or if I couldn't, then a trip to the shops would follow. Not a big deal. The lads packed pretty much the same way, all except Remus, who genuinely awed me sometimes with his organisational skills.

Lily, on the other hand, scared me with hers. She was quite literally mad over packing. She wrote lists; several of them. She had a _list_ to keep track of all her lists. And after packing every item on those lists into her trunk, precisely and in an efficient, space-saving fashion (sodding _terrified_ of this woman, I tell you; her and her near military-like order—I was rubbish at folding things and the whole mass-to-volume ratio was lost on me), she then had to take it all out again to make certain she'd remembered everything.

Like bloody Santa Claus, she was, making her lists and checking them twice.

Bugger. I'd break into song next. Still, first Christmas joke of the year—all at once, I found myself in the clutches of a vicious craving for Aunt Meg's rum cake. It truly was the season to be jolly.

Due to Lily's refusal to actually let me transfigure her into a lesbian Swede (her sole protest being, "I can't do the accent and if I'm going to bother with it, I'll do the thing properly"), it was a little difficult to hide from James the fact she was coming home with me.

As we went out into the chilly morning—having already bid farewell to those of our acquaintances not going home for Christmas at breakfast—and rode the carriages to Hogsmeade station where we then crunched through the snow coating the platform in order to find an empty train compartment, it became apparent to me that James suspected something, seeing as Lily was walking with me the whole way, instead of going off with the prefects or other friends.

But Lily insisted that she could handle him—she had been doing it for five-plus years, she'd gotten quite good at it, she told me. And so I chose to take her at her word and let her fend for herself, because I honestly couldn't be arsed with running around after them like an anal-retentive nanny, and anyway, I was very curious indeed to see how she would "handle" James, when they were stuck living together in the same house.

It was a bit fascinating to watch James' eyes gradually grow brighter and brighter as he "subtlely" stared at Lily all throughout the train-ride to London and she merely scowled in return. As realisation seemed to dawn, his expression could be described only as that of a child who's just been told that Christmas has come early.

Quite appropriate, for all that.

By the time the train had arrived at last at platform nine-and-three-quarters, James was positively _glowing_. Only his uncertainty that he wasn't, in fact, dreaming (I saw him jab Sirius in the ribs and ask this very question) kept him from hitting on Lily like nobody's business.

Or maybe that was just because both Lily and I would send him a quelling glare each time it looked like he was about to try. But who's for semantics when it's _Christmas_?

"Please tell me you've got your own bedroom? With a lock on the door, if the heavens choose to smile upon me just this once?" Lily whispered to me with fervent hope as we dragged our trunks down the narrow aisle, jostled by other students also trying to leave in a hurry.

"Oh yeah, don't worry about it, you'll have plenty of breaks from James. Nice long ones with the possibility of tea and gingerbread cookies. We can set a fixed time of day if you like," I offered, wrestling with my trunk to get it around the open door where Sirius was waiting to help me lift it to the ground.

"No, that isn't a good idea," Lily said darkly, with a shake of her head. "Too much regularity and he'll begin to notice a pattern. He may attempt to break in. Spontaneity and unpredictability are key if we're going to win this." She said all of this with a manic gleam in her eye, sounding a bit like a General planning her war tactics, and slapped the side of her fist into the palm of her other hand to emphasise her point.

I decided at that moment that if Lily did indeed see a fortnight spent in close company with James Potter as a matter of war, then my cousin had better get a new battle strategy.

Once we were all on the platform, bundled warmly in our Muggle clothing and our trunks safely at our feet, I said, my breath forming white puffs as I spoke, "Right, they usually meet me near the gate or on the other side, but it won't be hard to spot them if it's otherwise."

"I see my Mum!" Peter interrupted, pointing to a plump, fussy-looking blonde woman standing a few yards away, waving for his attention and clutching an enormous handbag.

Mrs. Pettigrew grated on my nerves, with her over-protective way with Pete and her needlessly fastidious mannerisms. But she didn't know I disliked her, so I raised a hand in greeting when she spotted me looking.

We all said goodbye to Pete and wished him a happy Christmas before he went off with his Mum, telling her happily of the events of the term past.

I wrapped my scarf more securely around my neck and said, "Let's start toward the gate, you lot, they aren't anywhere this far down the platform."

"What do your parents look like?" Lily wondered aloud curiously.

"You'll know when they see us," Sirius told her cryptically, before I could get a word in.

I didn't add anything to this statement, because it actually summed up the truth rather well.

Remus said, "I think I see mine," and I turned to follow the direction of his gaze, over the top of my head. Sure enough Dr. and Mrs. Lupin were standing near the conductor's office, chatting pleasantly with…

"Oh God," said James and I simultaneously. Sirius merely went a sickly, pale-green colour and stopped dead in his tracks.

"What? Who? What?" Lily demanded, clearly not pleased with being the only one in the dark about something.

Remus cleared his throat, scratching under his nose as if to hide a smile.

"She _said_… nothing to get worked up about… a few relatives… dirty rotten liar…" I spoke faintly, staring in mild horror at the woman currently laughing uproariously with her head tossed back at whatever Dr. Lupin had just said, and telling from his alarmed expression, it hadn't been meant to be taken in quite such a humorous manner.

"Prongs… Prongsy… I don't wanna go anymore…" Sirius groped blindly for James' hand, his expression and tone similar to my own.

"_What_ is everyone seeing that I'm not?" Lily burst out, staring squint-eyed in the direction the rest of us were, her gaze flitting around without settling on anything specific.

It was at that moment the woman who was now hugging tiny Mrs. Lupin with as much amity to suggest they were practically sisters (to my knowledge, they'd only just now met) looked over and emitted an ear-splitting shriek of delight when she spotted us there.

"Robbie! Robert, they're here!" she cried shrilly, waving a crimson-tipped hand, her hair—which had been the same shade and texture as mine the last time I'd seen her, but was now a much brighter blonde and curled to within an inch of its life—bouncing with each excited movement. She tottered over to us on ten-centimetre heels—Good Christ, was that powder-blue _fur_ on her boots?—, her footsteps tiny and quick due to the skin-tight, bum-in-a-vice, ski pants she wore.

"My schnookums!" she gushed, flinging her arms around me and engulfing me in a surprisingly flat chest—considering—and a cloud of Chanel perfume.

"Aunt Deirdre," I returned, with a frozen smile and poorly attempted enthusiasm.

"_Oh_, okay," Lily said, sounding satisfied now.

Aunt Deirdre squeezed me 'til I thought she'd snap me in half, then kissed me and pinched my cheek with wholly unnecessary exuberance, before turning to the three lads and repeating the whole process, with no less rapturous glee. James and Sirius both looked half scared to death, while Remus seemed a bit uncomfortable, but took it all in stride rather admirably.

"You are _not_ allowed to hold this against me, I had no idea," I hissed to Lily, the moment I'd got the feeling back in my ribs.

"You had no idea, what?" she asked distractedly, watching with evident amusement as Sirius, the Leaping Wonder, didn't quite escape getting his arse pinched by my Aunt Deirdre, who then moved on to attack her schnookerdoodle (more commonly known as James) with another suffocating hug.

I just looked on in resignation as a gigantically tall, bespectacled madman came rushing out of the conductor's office, bushy black moustache and all, then bounded towards us at another ecstatic plea from Aunt Deirdre.

He promptly grabbed Lily from behind, lifted her off her feet, twirled her around twice, then set her back down, booming, "Bet you fifty pence I can tell what you had for breakfast in that skirt!"

Lily promptly spun round and brought her knee up between his legs, shrieking, "Shove off, you wanking perv!"

And it was at that moment when it really began to feel like Christmas.

"Lily," I said serenely, feeling like my safest bet would be to just turn tail and run 'til I could run no more, "meet my Uncle Robbie, James' dad. Uncle Robbie, this is Lily Evans, James' future sexcapade partner, who's going to stay with us all holiday long. Trot off, you two, and get to know each other better. Loads in common, you both read books; fast friends for life, I just know it. Remus, I'm coming with you to Florence. Let's be off."

I started off in the direction of Remus' parents, who I decided right then and there were a pair of genuinely gorgeous and brilliant people, with every intention of moving in with them and absolutely refusing to leave, ever—I was even prepared to stage a hunger protest, should such a thing it become necessary. There was no way I was putting myself through this stress when the holidays were supposed to be a time for rest, relaxation and revelry.

James and Sirius each caught one of my elbows, however, and started to drag me backwards, the latter hissing in my ear, "If you think you're letting me go this alone, you're mad!"

I thought he was probably right on that last point. I didn't put up much of a struggle after that, anyway, when I knew exactly where it would hurt the most to hit them and could have easily got away. Instead, I let out a forlorn sigh and allowed myself to be carted off to my doom.


End file.
